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."