The artisan spoke, and Leander nodded breifly in understanding. The Bazilisk seemed to have things well under control.
The prisoner, on the other hand, had stuck her dainty chin up in the air like some mischievous, naive child. The display was no less than he'd expected from one of Mauja's group, yet he'd still been holding on to some faint hope that there might be a chance for diplomacy. It only took for the harlot's mouth to open for that to be shown in vain. There was no talking with these foolish creatures. How could Faelene stand such idiocracy in her new leader?

Frosted pools hardened on the girl, waiting for her catty peal to wind down. Her thoughtless, presumptuous words were enough to irritate him, but for now Leander had enough reserve to keep that well under wraps. It would be nothing more than a show of weakness to display his own hatred for her, as she broadcasted her own vile sarcasm. If he only felt it the right decision to, he could knock her cold and lifeless to the sands with one smooth blow; and that knowledge was enough to satisfy him.

"My friends are in fact not only your prisoners, mare." He retorted cooly to her assumption, a pleasant smile trailing the dark line of his lip. There would be no way of her knowing who exactly in her brood he meant, and he was confident that Faelene was careful enough to ensure no suspicion arose about them. They did not meet haphazard like most love-drunk fools, but more careful, tactful, and watchful. Now the sable witch could sit here and stew over where her group's loyalties truly lay. "I care not whether you yourself are peaceable. I am merely gracious enough to inform you that your group has but two paths; mind your own existence without any harassment of the Throat or it's allies, or find yourselves failing in battle a second time." The honest edge of his words rang out, small curls of white breath twisting from his nostrils despite the warm air. His flaxen banner swayed lazily behind him, betraying the unsteady, violent beast he so easily could become with the Ice Demon's constant shadow.

Suddenly, an even more venemous voice than Psyche's broke the scene. Leander turned his gilded crown back to look at the sultana, and for a moment his stoic mask held some true confusion. Was she really going to reprimand the Bazilisk for stealing the one who had tried to steal their own? Stepping away from the inky form of the ex-Edge mare, he faced the flaxen tressed leader. "I cannot see how such an act could indicate a desire for anarchy, Kri. There are some of our members who may have the talents for more than one position, and it would be a shame to let such abilities go to waste. Such anger should be directed elsewhere; not at our artisan." He addressed her calmly, disagreeing though there was no mistaking the plea in his features. Be calm; this is not the time for this. He had never seen the matriarch this furious before, and he would have never expected her judgment to be so far from his own. Yes, he held his own suspicions on Bazilisk, but the great serpent had given no reason to be cross. He was working hard, both on the wall and to protect the Throat through his actions. The snake could easily be some other herd's asset, and Leander was aware of that fact. Above all, the palomino's chest burned at the knowledge that the ex-Edge's new ringleader was witnessing any lack in their unity. It did not bode well.

"Bazilisk has already done much for the herd in his short time here. Let us not forget that, lest we end up regretting other things." He continued more gently, hoping not to escalate the resolute's temper but unwilling to let her speak to Bazilisk so harshly. Summoning a respectful smile, he inclined his head to his russet counterpart before moving his blonde frame to rest beside the serpent. The LionHeart let his gaze move to the Bazilisk's reptillian face, an apologetic look passing quickly over his features. He knew that Kri would want to have her own words with Psyche, and he had spoken his piece for the Bazilisk. A near silent, drawn sigh slipped from his maw, likely only audible to the massive snake. Accepting the mantle of sultan was proving to be a more difficult task than anyone could imagine.