The first thing to proclaim the irritable Nightshade's arrival was the constant grumbling under the blood bay's breath. Snö shifted her weight, wincing, wishing she could close off her nostrils to the brisk air that stank of desert heat and dirt, from the numerous times her and the dark bay had made contact, with tensing muscles and pinned ears. The foul stench was almost worse than the tingling pain of her open wounds, pain dulled by the frosted air that pierced the lungs with sharp knives and little love, clutching at her with raw, numb fingers. She shook her head, throwing off the dregs of the ghost's effect on her, of wild, sinister fear that ran foul in her shriveled frozen heart, a heart frozen to all but cruelty and jealousy, vindictiveness and dislike. Snö was not a kind mare.

For a moment she allowed the blood bay to study her, a touch annoyed at his lazy, frustrating attitude. Snö was patient, sometimes- other times not so- but she had no use for those who sat on their asses and let others do the real work. So she fidgeted, shifting her weight on silver cloven hooves. For a moment after he queried after who had harmed her, she let a brazen, wicked smile curl one side of her face, a lopsided smirk at the many dark things d'Artagnan could commit to the one who had harmed her so- but she was old enough to handle him herself. Nevertheless, no harm (at least to her) in giving a description. "Some Throat idiot- antlered, winged, had some odd sort of thing between his antlers. Red tribal markings. Tall, moved well off his feet. Can summon ghosts." Snö said carelessly, shaking her head to let her mane fall more elegantly. Never would she admit she had come off looking the worse than him- how would d'Artagnan know the truth anyways? He wouldn't.

The stinging of her flesh wounds faded a moment as she thought of the grump siring Mesec with the moon goddess. She had no idea. How strange of him... did he love his son for bearing wings still? Aviya had loved him, as she recalled their previous meeting with a bitter twist of her lips, only a few hours ago on this day. Snö disliked the filly, even younger than she was; but she couldn't deny should they have met over something else, perhaps she would like the filly quite a bit more. Allies were always good to have- it would do no harm to make amends. Aviya was in the Plague anyways, wasn't she? She knew of Snö's dislike for winged and bareheads. No, dislike was too petty a word. Hatred suited her much better.

"Can you heal me, d'Art?" Snö asked, after returning from her wicked thoughts.