The shadow-mare had tried very hard not to think of d'Artagnan's winged colt. Truth be told, the sight of him repulsed her, a mess of feathers and horn and darkness and shining white, and though she might have cast him out were it only the Goddess of the Moon that was related to him - for what good had that old hag done them, turning her back on them and allowing the Qian to throw them out of their home? - the hybrid was the Doctor's son, and the shade dared not offend the stallion. But she did not want him here, this feathered monstrosity, the offspring of that goddess that she might once have claimed as her own. Blood will tell, they say, and his blood was particularly traitorous in the Empress' eyes. Perhaps he would leave of his own accord when he came of age to do so. In the meantime, she would not be cruel to the colt of one of her most trusted advisers, but neither would she be kind.

That morning had dawned bright and windy, cool for Tallsun. Although the Basin was generally much colder than the rest of Helovia, its summer was remarkably warmer than the winter had been, and to the Lady, summertime was hot. Her pelt, adapted into a thick layer of fur all over her body, kept her comfortable even in the tundra. For some of their newer members, the rays of this early morning sun would not warm them, and the gusts of wind blowing down from them mountains would cut to the bone. For Psyche, it was simply another comfortable, if mildly chilly, day. She emerged from the cavern that she had taken as her own, blinking in the sudden brightness. She much preferred the night, but in order to keep her herd safe and orderly, she had faced the necessity of adapting to their sleeping schedules. And so here she was.

A pale pelt decorated by a green-tinged banner caught her attention. This one was new, and likely to be thinking that the land was a bit cooler than she had expected. A soft call was heard - the Lady of the Basin was too far to hear the words that sprouted from the youngster's maw - and was answered by a hesitant whinny from the very colt that she had been thinking of. Distaste flooded her mind, disgust showing briefly on her maw, but she swallowed the emotion and made her way forward all the same. She may as well introduce herself to the young fae. Besides, what better way to get to know the flicka, to see if she would be turned to the Plague's cause, than to watch her interact with the hybrid? Pistons pushed ebony bodice into an easy, ground-covering trot, and in moments she appeared beside the young femme, casting barely a glance to Mesec.

"Good morning, darling," she greeted the youngling with a smile. It was too sweet, almost poisonously so, welcoming in a way that might remind one of the beauty of the Venus fly trap before it devours its prey. "I don't believe that we have met. I am Psyche the Dark Empress. Welcome to my home."

"Talk talk talk."

Once, perhaps, the actions of the pale bi-horned mare would not have irritated the shadow-mare, but at that moment, she found herself frowning at the fae's intrusion. She remembered her from the meeting - Arah, her name was, wasn't it? She had offered herself as a phantom, Psyche remembered. The shade wondered if Arah had found Faelene yet to ask for guidance. Or was there nothing better for her to do than babysit? Perhaps it was not the mare herself that the Empress found herself annoyed with, but rather her lack of a job. Still, it was of no importance - Arah took it upon herself to introduce the young Clover. The word choice, too, irked her, and she made a mental note to have a separate discussion with Arah later.

The ivory mistress was not, to her knowledge, a part of her organization, and she grasped desperately at the situation, almost as though seeking her approval. It was not unprecedented - many entered her lands with the thought that they must impress her - but oftentimes it turned out to be those who did not try that she favored. Still, she could not discount the efforts of the mare Arah. After all, if she was bringing recruits to the Basin and, potentially, the Plague, well, she couldn't be all bad. Still, she would need to be put to use sooner rather than later, particularly with the recent upheaval in the Foothills and gods-knew-what-else in the other lands.

She had almost forgotten Mesec's presence (thankfully) when he spoke. Amber eyes, thoughtful when regarding to two femmes, turned cold as her cranium swiveled toward him. She longed to speak against him, to disregard his words as immaterial, but to her chagrin he spoke the truth. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she considered her next words. She tilted her head slightly to the side in thought. "The colt speaks truly," she said finally, refusing him his name in a voice laced with poison. She turned back to Arah. "Not all here share the same beliefs," she informed the pair before her. "But all those with a horn upon their brow are welcome. It is the choice of the herd that we allow strictly our own species."

Again, cold orange globes found the demi-god. "Mesec is the son of d'Artagnan, our Time Mender," she added as way of explanation for his presence. She paused, considering the colt in silence before again returning to ignoring him. "Clover, darling," she said conversationally, her vocals shifting from their cool tone to one much more welcoming. "Tell me, what would you like to do in our herd? We have many options, particularly for one so young and impressionable as yourself."

"Talk talk talk."

The Dark Empress had come to know the give-and-take that was leadership, and so when the pale Arah backed away, voicing and apology, she, too, spoke. "You are eager, Arah, and that is a trait that will be well-used here." There was something regal in the way she spoke, her crown held high and her orbs holding a look almost like that which a teacher gives the pupil that has spoken out of turn. She was not angry, it would seem; rather, she was trying to teach the younger mare the ways of diplomacy. It was particularly ironic that such a skill was new to her, as well, though she had quickly come to understand the ins and outs.

Faelene appeared then, and the Lady greeted her Thief with a nod and a brief smile. They had gotten along splendidly since their arrival in the Basin, and the shadow-mare had come to treasure the red-maned's quick intelligence and understanding. She offered a gentler word to Arah, then invited the pale mare away. She would go far, of that Psyche was sure, once she learned how to approach various situations. And Faelene would be the perfect teacher. Her gaze flickered between Arah, Clover, and Mesec. Both unicorns' manner seemed to have softened toward the colt, and for a moment she cursed herself. He was not welcome here, not by her, and had she her way she would remove him from their lands. But alas, such a thing was not meant to be at present.

Clover spoke next, offering her services as a thief. The shade looked her over, head tilted to one side. It would seem that she was attracted more and more in that line of work of late, but they were still short-handed in healers and traders. It was something that she ought to look into, but that would come later. For now, she smiled at the young fae, and though it was not an entirely true smile, it was not full of venom as it usually was. She liked the young ones. They were easier to corrupt. "My dear, of course we do. In fact, Faelene is just the mare you need to speak with about that. We call them Phantoms here, and she is in charge of those." Mesec was slipping away - And good riddance, she thought - and now she could focus her attention only on Clover.

"Talk talk talk."