It was one of those days on which winter seemed to take hold, rooting itself into the very fabric of the land, refusing to give way to the arrival of spring. Sprouts of green, so visible the day before, had been crushed under the last true snowfall of the season. Thick, grey blankets lay across the sky, blocking out the sun, leaving the afternoon dim and depressing. Even the rocks dotting the landscape wore ominous faces, drawn into long, silent screams. Perhaps it was fitting for the shadow-mare to reside in such a terrain, but she had to admit her hatred for days such as this. It was not the darkness or the undertone of desolation; these were normal for her. But the cold - she would forever curse the FrostHeart for bringing the exiles to a place so damn cold.

And then he disappeared. She snorted in frustration. Naturally, he wouldn’t stay to help them through the harsh Frostfall in the absence of the Sun God. Oh, no, he would get himself snatched up into some strange space-time continuum and be vacuumed to some other place of nothingness or somethingness or - Oh, who cares? He was probably nice and cozy wherever he was, while she was left here to pick up his mess. What business had she caring for his herd? They did not know her, most of them, and those that did knew that she had run before. Regardless of whether they were new or old faces, none of them trusted her, and wasn’t that essential to leadership?

The Plague, she could handle. She could prove herself to them. It was easy, in fact. Sure, some may never like her, but she wasn’t interested in their adoration. It was their allegiance that she required, their loyalty, and above all, their devotion to her cause. And this she had gotten. A small smile crossed her maw despite her dark thinking, and her orbs flickered with some distant emotion. It was a look that spoke of the darkness that filled her heart with fiery purpose, so opposite of the Ice King who had once sought her as his queen.

[W/C | 360]

She was contemplating her predicament when the scent of another mare caught her attention. It was a mare that she had seen many times, the dark one with the bloody mane. Had she been here before the shadow-mare's disappearance? She couldn't remember. How sad, that her memory was so lacking that she couldn't remember such a simple thing - the red-maned wasn't exactly forgettable, after all. The jackal watched the fae approach, considering her options (let her pass or stop her to chat). Well, she would have to start winning them over sooner of later - it may as well start now.

She turned her bodice so that she was facing the femme's approach, adopting a welcoming stance. Her amber gaze watched, betraying no emotion, simply holding a look of interest. A soft whinny welcomed the red-maned into her presence, and words followed shortly. "Well, hello, there," she said in a tone that was positively jovial (for her, anyway). As ever, her words held the slightest hint of a hiss, as though her words came from the mouth of a silver-tongued serpent. But it was friendly nonetheless, or as much so as she could manage. Perhaps today she would earn a new recruit; in order to do so, she must win over even those who knew better than to trust her.

[W/C | 221]

Her voice had often been the subject of speculation, an odd mix, as it were, of seduction, poison, and sarcasm. It was very much alluring, though at the same time held a warding quality, much as a venus fly trap's nectar draws in its prey. Surely they, too, know that they are being lured to their death, but it promises sweetness and all manner of heavenly things, and they simply cannot resist. Faelene's vocals could not have been more different, being soft and friendly. A neutral sort of voice, the polite chimes of one making small talk with a stranger. Or perhaps not a stranger, in this case - the red-maned femme certainly knew who the jackal was - but rather an acquaintance. Yes, that seemed to be the more correct term.

"Sno is indeed my daughter," Psyche agreed easily. What an interesting specimen her offspring was. Physically, they bore no resemblance, as the youngling heavily favored her father, the FrostHeart. Everything from her icy pelt to her perfectly spiraled horn spoke of the Ice King's blood. Where Sno and her mother were similar was in mentality: both were disgusted by the lower species, and would never admit to having any sort of bond with one another, or most other creatures. But even in this sense, Sno had grown away from her mother's solitude and cruelty: she had procured a pet, Monster; a mechanical dog, Tarak; and a slave, Rapha. Psyche remained alone, without her king, without a companion, and even without her daughter. Of course, that was a bad habit of hers, alienating everyone in her life.

But who needed them, anyway?

"You haven't seen Mauja lately have you?" The question jarred her slightly, and as Faelene explained her need to speak with him, the shadow-mare began to shake her cranium in a telltale negative. "I have not," she lied. Of course, she had been the last to see him as he fell through that odd wormhole into some distant space-time continuum, but she wasn't about to admit to it. The last thing that she needed was for a rumor to start that she had something to do with his disappearance. She had been doing so well in gaining trust, and she was not about to let that get in her way. The taste of power was a strong, metallic tang in her mouth, and now that she had the bit between her teeth, she was not about to let go.

She felt as though she should add something, to make up for her rather short answer, to cover her tracks, so to speak. Even though she'd done nothing wrong. "His presence is sorely missed." There. And it was even the truth, too. The jackal had returned to make amends with the once-king, and now he had disappeared, along with her chance to reunite and ascend to queenship. Well, no matter. She would simply have to earn it. She always liked a challenge better, anyway. "I am sure that he would not object if you were to bring more unicorns to the herd. Gods know that we could use some new blood." She was not trying to usurp his power, no, that would be to straightforward with this one. She was smarter than the rest, and not of Psyche's organization. But the dark fae did stress that only unicorns would be accepted - that much, she would do.

[W/C | 569]

It was unexpected, for the red-maned to voice a sinister thought. She was soft-spoken, and that Psyche took for a weakness. Perhaps she should reevaluate her character analysis, if such a trait led her to assume that there was no violence to be found. She had never met such a being; her own family was outspoken with their anger, with their hatred, bugling their opinions even as they cut down those who would hear. Even here, after leaving their poisonous grasp, she had found only the passionate. The FrostHeart may have been more diplomatic than she, but soft-spoken, he was not. d'Artagnan, the doctor, was gruff. His nurse, Kou, was perhaps kinder, but it was a kindness that masked her superiority. Was Faelene like her? It was a foreign persona to the jackal, who felt no need to dull her sharp words, to hide her beliefs behind the facade of friendship. But then, that was why she had others to be diplomatic for her, was it not?

Even so, perhaps it was a skill that she should learn. She was beginning to understand the appeal, but only just - she still had not conceded to the demands of the masses, that she might be a better leader to create a mask, to tell them what they wanted to hear. Little did she know that she would be god-marked, chosen to lead in the absence of the King. But that is neither here nor there. If diplomacy remained unimportant, gaining the trust of those unicorns outside the Plague was the opposite; and so began her first attempts at winning over the hearts of her companions. Like Faelene.

And so it was that she found herself listening as the femme, whom she had apparently wrongly judged, discussed two potential recruits. They would be healthy, she assumed, and potentially racist. She could use them to her advantage, if they would come and stay. Perhaps Faelene herself would even prove useful, though nothing in her manner screamed supremacy. No matter; it was the shadow-mare's turn to speak. "Everyone can be taught," she spoke thoughtfully, considering the various options. "Perhaps he has talents that can be molded, as Monster's were; if he responds to games, games may be used to guide him."

[W/C | ---]