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."