Heat is bearing down on the inhabitants of the Dragon's Throat, and despite having never experienced Birdsong or Tallsun here before Rowan is completely at ease. Even as the darkness of her chocolate coat attracted the rays of the sun, she was unbothered by the sudden temperature spike. Where she had grown up was hotter than here, a surprising thing to say, and to be anywhere colder was impossible for her. Feeling much like a burro in her need to live in heated climates, Rowan let an amused smile crawl onto her soft visage. It seemed the darkness that had nipped at her heels for years had been trained, groomed, and leashed into a perfect pet of self confidence. And Rowan could thank no other person but her mentor. Ever since that night at the oasis, staring down at her reflection while the moon hover over them, Rowan had been making leaps and bounds towards her goal of self happiness and awareness. It was easy now to focus only on the gift her mind brought her and not the curse. Finding that it was so simple to control the working machine that was her intelligence.

However, even as some things change others will always remain the same. Wandering about the lands had changed to wandering about the Throat, leaving her shell of shyness to try and actually make acquaintances. This was the harder part of her journey, as Rowan had little to no interaction between the ages of eight months and three years. What she did have was meager, or comprised only of Feyther and brief memories of her mother. Reaching out was difficult for her, and the young fae still felt the urge to turn and flee on many occasions. Perhaps what surprised her the most was the deep familial bonds of the Throat members. Whether you were known or not, so long as you had their scent on your coat you could count on them to lead you into battle and have your back. When Tribute had accosted her at the borders, demanding information and acting in an insolent manner, Aryel had been quick to come to her side and the two had defended each other from the insults he cast at them. Even Kri, their fearless leader, came when they beckoned her and never once let them down. It was all very dizzying at times, but Rowan couldn't deny she loved it. Loved living in the Throat more than anything she'd ever loved in her whole life. She finally had a place to call home, no longer a wandering nomad stuck to the side of a crabby manipulating old mare. The most surprising was finding that she actually had a voice. An opinion. She could choose who she was and what to do with her time!

Happy musings were brought back down to earth at the sight of a dark stallion ahead. One who seemed to be caught in far less enjoyable thoughts. Instantaneously concerned, Rowan stretched her legs out and hurried to catch up. Nickering softly to warn of her approach. Taking in everything she could see, noting the path he followed almost by instinct. The markings of his eyes, however, were what told her the truth. Just as she had recognized Cassiopeia by her looks and demeanor, she had also heard of their general Azzuen. Curly flaxen blond forelock fell over cerulean orbs and she tossed it out of the way quickly, more concerned with why their beloved general seemed so out of it. "Thoughts can sometimes be the worst weapons, for they inflict wounds upon ourselves without the help of any ill wishing outsider," was all she said, eyes understanding and voice soft and shy as it always was. Coming to his side and matching his stride, though Rowan kept a respectful distance away from him. "I'm Rowan, sir." Reminding herself to be respectful, though she didn't need it. Feyther had drilled manners into her like she was a soldier and Rowan would never be without them for the rest of her life she feared. Not, of course, that it was a bad thing.