It was a curious observation to make, this discussion between equine and unicorn. The little black mare spoke only words which she hoped would gleam a reaction, and in doing so, she was fed information that gave her hope. Hope, you see, was what kept her going, kept her standing, kept her concentrating on finding her magic once more. Whatever it was they had slipped her, she could not feel the hum of her magic near to her any more, could not feel the instinctual caress of her illusionary cloak, nor the beastly echo of a dragon within her breast. The effects would wear off, of this she was sure; no one but a God could work a curse harsh enough to remove one's magic permanently.

The mare stood, with hope rising, slowly but surely, at her outlook on the future. She had awoken with nothing but bleak acceptance of her situation; now she saw things a bit clearer. Her throat still ached, but this Xanthos, her guard, had indeed guarded her from escape, from also from the herd and sufferance in which she would otherwise face without him there. Because of him, she was grateful, and able to foresee a path ahead that would eventually lead her home. A longing, sharp and unnerving, suddenly filled her, a wistful yearning for familiar surrounds, comforting embraces, salty sea air and woody scents. There truly is no place like home.

The Nightshade's voice cut through her longing, and the mare drew her eyes away from her guard to view the bloody hued beast with glass horns. Like always, she was curious as to the tale that might exist behind the broken shard that juts from his crown, and she allowed her golden eyes to linger upon it perhaps a breath longer than was polite - she was drugged after all, and while slowly beginning to feel like herself, she was still groggy, sluggish, hopelessly lost exactly whereabouts she stood. Akaith crooned upon her back, the sounds varying from a warning hiss at the arrival of the Mender, to a puzzled, concerned purr for her bonded. The little black mare shifted her weight, the only she could communicate to her bonded that she was, indeed, alright.

"Enemies perhaps; yet we hold many things in common." It was a comment given in nothing but her usual bland tones, proffered for the stallions to take and digest as they pleased. Exactly what she was referring to - why, it could be anything. Was she referring to the common thoughts she and Xanthos had shared? Or the way in which an efficient and hard worker was rewarded? Or perhaps even the fact that she now called the World's Edge her home, just as this Doctor once had? Or was it deeper than that still - that their blood bled the same hue, or that their souls existed on the same plane - a plane of mortal beings cowering beneath their Gods?

The gold shifted upon her withers once more, shuffling her leathery wings about, unsettled about something - what exactly, would be left up to anyone's guess, for she could not communicate what it was she knew in any way aside from her body, which was proving frustrating for both of them. The deep, sharp golden eyes of Mirage lingered a moment longer upon the NightShade, before her elegant tiara turned to view the horizon of trees, hills and in the distance, glaciers. She was tired of this situation already, and with a desperate hope, she attempted to call upon her magic once more - the illusionary cloak that had ben her companion for longer even than Akaith had.

It was then that the edges of the mare blurred, warped and lost their focus. It was not a complete performance, but broken, hazy and cloudy, as once was trying to erase her with a overused rubber eraser. The magic's touch was comforting to her, like a lover's embrace, and after a few seconds, she allowed it to drop.

Promises of a future were looking grand indeed.

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