Some call the fog daunting, obscuring, thrilling. I called it beautiful, gracious and informative. These mists were my home, since my birth, since the Gods threatened to destruct the entirety of Helovia. I am a survivor, I have seen leaders come and go, members come and go, I have even made friends and connections along the way - but they have left, where I have stayed. The World's Edge is not for everyone, this is a fact that I discovered eons ago, and yet still I allow myself to be drawn close to others, still I feel an ache within my breast when they leave.

Sometimes it does well to guard against those who would just leave in the end.

My lithe, pale frame walks with steps of precision, delicate, purposeful, and graced by the cool, damp embrace of the mists. My tail, long and leonine, seems to orchestrate the curious substance, with every sweeping motion, it strokes the mists into shapes, shadows, tales. I am a dreamweaver, where one sees insignificant shapes and colours, I see the future, the past, the present, I see everything amidst this misty cloak that would otherwise hide all.

"Time is a precious commodity."

My words are simple, sharp and clear, my gaze just as keen as it stares into the young twins. I did not need to dip into the mists to find these cretins, the ruckus of the twins of our Sun Advocate upon the borders drew attention enough to make them simple to spot with my violet eyes. My long, spiral horn leans as I tilt my chiselled, refined tiara, first acknowledging the presence of Yseulte, one whom I had not yet been given the pleasure of meeting, yet respected, for they were of my herd, and had otherwise proven themselves to be worthy of my deference.

The others that were present, however, had danced along the borders of politeness and sheer recklessness. Though their blood-ties to our Sun Advocate gave them permission to find shelter in my home as they needed it, to think that they might one day represent this herd, this land that I love more than life itself - it is troubling, to me.

My critical glare returns to the siblings now, my pupil-less, violet gaze daring either one to speak foul of me, of my land, or of my herdmate. They would not be split up, this I could see - and understand, though I have no siblings myself. They share a bond as strong as my tie to my land; unbreakable, indestructible, resilient.

"We require strength in our ranks; such weakness as racism are not accepted."

Elegance personified, I have halted before the threesome, the curvature of my nape allowing me to view all those present with but a gentle, subtle tilt of musculature. Cloven hooves hold the wraith-like frame with a sense of comradery towards the other horned one, the hue of my eyes sparkling with unknown depths of wisdom and knowing.

"No matter who your father is."

I do not spare the other brother, Nym, in my chastisement. They stand together, they seek approval together, and so they must fail together. The herd may be small yet, but better to have fewer numbers and strong minds, than a great many weak minds.

Silence overthrows me then, and I stand to wait, to see what might change my mind about these young ruffians.