The mists rolled in their peculiar way, stretching with delicate, silvery fibres outwards from their origin within the lands, swallowing all that came before them in a foggy, damp curtain. The golden dragon that sat atop the plump rump of the little Arabic mare watched these mists curiously, just as she watched them dance and reach out to this newcomer, this stranger who walked beside Thor with very much the air of one who had been put in their place. These observations were not lost on the mare, who looked from Thor to the dark steed, the fading tones of Thor's last words to the stallion, that of family, brother, still tingling her ears. She had not heard all that he said, but even those words made her chest swell with pride and happiness. He was a good stallion, she thought, as her golden eyes roamed over the miniscule wings upon his back, the mahogany tint of his hide. Bruises and scrapes were littered across her own hide, made by the very teeth and hooves of Thor, but they only aided in the satisfied emotions she felt when thinking of him.

Then her sights moved again to this dark steed, whose words were few, whose accent was not dissimilar to her own - a curl of his words that labelled him a foreigner from afar, a traveller, a wanderer, much like she had been for most of her life. The name he gave meant little to her, but the polite, respective term he addressed her with after that was duly noted, even if he seemed uncomfortable with it. Was he always like this, so passive, so softly spoken and level tempered?

Hmm.

The thought tumbled through her cranium, shared with an equally amused thought echoing back at her from the little golden queen, who still watched this newcomer with keen, sharp interest. The scrutiny of the tiny gold dragon could often be more discomforting than a mere glance from Mirage, and here they were, both peering at Dúchanar with equal intensity. Thor deigned not to speak, instead simply nodding to her, allowing her to control the direction of this meeting from here on end. A shadow of a smirk may have darkened the corner of her lips for a second.

"I am Mirage." Her gentle, soothing voice spoke, her own exotic accent clear. As her name was proffered, a shimmer overtook her bodice, one that Thor would know well from their spar together. Her image distorted, became, less-than-real, as fuzzy as the mists that dared to obscure her completely from view. But it lasted only a second longer than her voice did, she was whole again soon after. Tilting her tiara, she stepped towards this new stallion, nose outstretched, sampling the air near him - but not touching him. Elegance personified, she continued walking, until she had made a circle around him, her lithe, athletic form bending and curling so that she was only a breath away from him at all times. As she finished her loop, she sidled up to Thor, hoping to press herself affectionately beneath the wing upon his left side, her expression playful, devious. Akaith chirruped from her perch, still atop her bonded's back, before alighting to the skies once more, settling to rest upon a branch in the canopy above them instead.

"Why do you come here?" There was little inflection in her tone, nothing aside from the faint curl of her accent twisting the words, nothing but innocent questioning of his intentions here. It was a curious thing, to see whether he would respond, despite not having any true confirmation that she was, indeed, the DragonHeart, WeyrLeader of this grand land that they stood upon.