Even in summer, the sun was pale. The steady beat of wings, still heavily barred by youth, bore Irma through the frigid air, feathers rustling whenever she shifted in another direction. The owl enjoyed roaming the skies alone, far from her bonded, yet tethered by that link, anchored deep within his soul. They did not cling to each other, like others did. Keen blue eyes peered down, and found movement — lumbering giants and a slender shadow. Angling her wings down, the owl descended, relaying what she saw to Mauja, who almost fell on his face in surprise. Painted brown and grown with moss, it was a walking tree with a horse attached to it (or the other way around), as well as a slimmer, shorter unicorn, and a robust gray stallion. Irma passed overhead, scenting and seeing the ermine in the boughs of the trees; she descended slightly, and made a faux grab for it, intentionally closing her sharp talons in the air before sweeping out, to see if more visitors were coming.

Mauja felt pretty stunned by the sight of a mare with a tree on its back, and that alone was enough to make him pick up his frosted hooves and set out across the valley of their home. A summons rang out, the voice feminine yet deep, and he assumed it belonged to Willow, the one with the willow on her back. The red shape of d'Artagnan was visible ahead of him, as well of the pale mare who had requested to be made a Phantom. She was a newcomer, one he had not had the chance to meet yet. Shaking his spotted head, Mauja felt the odd coolness of his own amulet as it settled against his chest. Flicking his ears forward, the ex-King strode up to d'Art's side, sliding close enough against him to brush his shoulder along his red flank. Then, he said nothing, merely watched them with wary eyes, cocking one hip. d'Artagnan was not a healer like any other, and if Willow had come for compassion and an exchange of knowledge, she might not get what she bargained for. The Nightshade had his names for a reason, one of them his expertise in poison — Mauja fought down the cruel smirk threatening his curious expression. The idea of cheating the Earth Medic and making her poison those she sought to heal... But surely someone of the earth, someone who has half god damn tree, would not be fooled.

Intrigued by her, his gaze lingered for a long time upon the rough bark of her tree, how it intersected with her flesh, the moss growing upon her rich, earthy bay hide; leaves, vines and tendrils adorned her mane, but they seemed so healthy it wouldn't surprise him if they grew out of her neck, and were not simply there for looks. The Frostheart turned his eyes to the one beside her, a small, yet elegant unicorn mare, not too unlike the other one present, aside from the horns. And the last, a sturdy, robust stallion. Did they fear the Basin so much, that they sent an entourage with their Medic to keep it safe? He didn't even need to nudge Irma — she was already at it, scouring the terrain for more. Was this a diversion? Had the day come, when they would fight for their home again? No.. the air wasn't tense enough, the day was too calm. No army had marched across the Steppe, and even at this time of the year, to brave the ocean was madness. Blinking in the sunlight, the quiet ex-King slid his gaze back to Willow, watching her with open curiosity, but he stood where he could see all three at once.