A face of consternation meets me. Anxiety staring at me from crimson eyes - the stallion who has trespassed in my home appears to mourn his crime more than I disdain it. My discontent is obvious, as I make no secret of my feelings within. The movement his body makes is like a painful arch, legs scraping the ground with all the lack of grace a foal would have displayed. A stone wall, my face is unchanging as dark eyes watch the movement with cold detachment. He is ill, or at the very least the discomfort in his posture and face suggest it so. I wonder absently if he has come only to seek the healing abilities of my daughter, Onni, who has been blessed by the Sun God for many seasons. I know not how many bodies she has rid of disease, nor how many lives she has saved, but I do recall watching her with interest during the aftermath of the Edge invasion.

Bathed in pure light, my daughter has long since surpassed me in the art of helping. I only know how to lash out, while she knows better how to reach out with open arms.

No open arms await this stallion, not when he rises to meet my gaze. A cold expression matching the cool blue of my eyes, and he begins to speak. I grunt in response to his first comment. Usually, when other said that it was pleasant, great, a joy, or even just nice to meet me, they either had heard little of me or wished to flatter me for kindness. Regardless of which this stallion was, he would receive no kindness or mercy just for a pleasantry tacked on. I listen, though my facial expression may suggest early boredom with his troubles. Frankly, I think him whiny, the drawing of his voice becoming a screech in my ears, grating and making them fall back upon my skull slowly. He would blame his hardships upon the lady Psyche, but a fool should never accuse anyone of tricking them, for it is their own failings that find their lives blitzed. The only piece of his stammering which held interest for me was the honesty with which his voice sailed. The words were ill-spoken, pathetic, and self-deprecating at times, but held the golden tone of sincerity.

My ears slowly flick forward, as well, at the mention of racism. I knew the tale of racism all too well to allow even such an off-hand comment to slide by unnoticed in my irritation with this buffoon. Adalwulf the Steadfast, ruler of the great Equine Empire, had laid claim the home of my kin, the Crimson Cliffs of Isilme. Pushed by his hatred for the other species, he had also tarnished the beaches of the unicorns. While I had found kindness and charity in the heart of Amani Leila, the cold menace of Adalwulf's eyes on my first invasion will never escape me. If there was such an enemy who would see my kind fall, it was the bitch queen Psyche who Valentine mentions earlier. I had always suspected that Mauja's prim manners were suspicious with the distance he kept between all who spoke with him, but using such a detachment to mask racism was a clever guise, one which I now understood. The creatures of the Basin, formerly of the Edge, only allowed their kind to reside in their borders due to the hate of others, not simply a preference for the familiar.

When Valentine finishes speaking, my eyes are distant still, clouded with memories and a bad feeling resounding in my gut. There was no more dangerous a foe than hatred, and I had unwittingly skidded by it so many times. I thought that no leader would hold racism in their heart, but I was proved wrong many times. Now, I knew the true face of Psyche the DarkEmpress.

Aryel's familiar voice causes my body to lurch a bit, shaking me back into the reality of the present. With sightless eyes, I turn toward her, before glancing in the direction of the stallion she motions to. I shake out my head, trying to clear the unwanted thoughts spurning a bitter taste on the back of my tongue. It takes me a moment to realize the meaning of her question, and I suppose you would say I appear out of sorts. I am. I had not expected such news to come from the mouth of a stranger, but I am rather glad Psyche chose to piss off the wrong idiot and send him my way. "He is a stallion who will be taking refuge with us," I say finally, giving the grey a hard look, but one that was softened in comparison to the harpy which had arrived to greet the stallion at first.

"You may reside here, boy. Cause any trouble, however, and I will be swift to either extricate you from my home by force or kill you, if necessary," I smirk then, one that lacks the humor that the expression normally carries. I was completely serious about my statement, but I did not want him to think that I was unnecessarily violent. "What's your name?"