Equine and Pegasi be damned to Hell, he was tired of the hideous mutations coming into his home. Each intruder had been handled accordingly and rather easily, of course, but the sheer number of those trespassing was growing at an alarming rate.

Today, though, it seemed that the Weaver had finally been cut a break. It had been quiet save for the billowing wind and the crunch of snow beneath his hooves, and while he was sure it would grow boring over time, he would relish it while he could. The snow was falling from the sky at a steady rate, but it was not overly cold. For a newcomer to the Basin, however, it might not seem that way, but the tundra sanctuary never truly reached the freezing temperatures of the rest of the Steppe. The land gifted to them by the God of the Spark was truly a blessing, even if some found themselves cursing the eternal winter at times.

It was a sharp woofing from Talbot that alerted Crowley they weren't alone. Lifting his head from the lake, the stallion cast a quick glance to his bondmate, then looked out across the expanse of the Basin. It was unlikely that any sort of unwelcomed company would get this deep into the land without somebody else noticing, so he wasn't surprised in the least when he spotted a a fellow unicorn approaching them. "They are just new," he assured Talbot, putting the pup at ease before he could dart off and go into a fit of barking. The hound had grown more courageous since his hatching, but he was still cowardly when he actually got close to any stranger bigger than himself.

Deciding that it wouldn't hurt to welcome somebody new to their ranks, Crowley pulled himself away from the side of the lake and approached the pale figure, who was almost lost in the ribbons of falling snow. At his side walked Talbot, who with perked ears of interest watched their target, hoping that they would not send his master into a frenzy of curses and flying hooves. Crowley could tell now that they, like himself, had a dual set of horns rising from their head. Only when he knew he could be seen did Crowley slow to a halt, standing just yards away from the spotted mare. "Are you lost?" He spoke up, his words teasing in their normal guise before dropping. "Welcome to the Basin; the name's Crowley, your Weaver."

As he approached and the antlered mare let loose a shrill, reverberating call, Crowley found that he was unable to help but cringe. Such calls were not needed unless it was urgent, and after all, he had already spotted her and was heading her way... "Mares," he scoffed in his head as he pressed onward, the mare's pale figure growing more and more distinct with each step.

Once he had arrived and extended a welcome to her, Crowley listened with keen ears as she introduced herself as Zdravilo and tucked the name away into the depths of his mind. The Weaver knew well how important it was to remember names and the faces that went with them, for the Basin had already had its fair share of liars and traitors, such as the case with Valentine. The brindle nearly snorted in disgust at the thought of the crimson clad stallion, but he was quick to push them away lest he ruin this moment with the newest addition to the Basin.

At hearing the tobiano's rank, the slightest of smiles pulled at the Weaver's lips. If he remembered correctly, there were no longer any training beneath the Time Mender. He knew of the Nightshade's beloved nurse and the not so racist Lena, but other than that, there was nobody. Meeting the mare's strangely colored eyes with his own golden gaze, he quirked a brow in curiosity. "Have you met d'Artagnan yet? He is our Time Mender, your direct superior." Even though his wording might not have been the best, it was simply a fact.

Deciding to switch to a more simple topic, one that the paint might be more comfortable with, Crowley cocked a hind leg and prepared himself for what might be an earful. In front of him, Talbot had settled back down and made himself quite at home sitting between the brindle's front legs, looking up to the mare with youthful curiosity. Having grown used to the pup's favorite spot to sit, Crowley adjusted his eyes back upon the mare. "So, Vilo... Do you mind if I call you that?" There was a short pause, as if allowing her a moment to answer, before he continued on. "What's brought you here to the quaint land of Helovia? And if I may ask, why take an interest in the art of a Scourge?"

At the agreement of the mare's shortened name, Crowley couldn't help but chuckle. "It's certainly much less of a mouthful than Zdravilo," he proferred in way of an answer, then settled back into silence as the tobiano went on to speak of Helovia. He supposed it was better here than in Etaine, where the equines had sought to kill and maim any holding a horn upon their head. In Etaine, the equines were envious of unicorns, for they were thought to be creatures of magic, something that was not acceptable in the land.

Often times, Crowley compared the two lands closely to one another. In Etaine, equines hunted unicorns for their magical abilities, many of which didn't know a lick of magic. Here, it seemed everyone hunted everyone, but namely the Plague which hunted anyone without a horn. Maybe they weren't so different after all.

It was with interest that Crowley listened to Zdravilo's answer, pleased that she was able to provide one so quickly when asked of her choice of rank. Honestly, he'd been expecting a long pause before she could finally come up with one, so this was a pleasant surprise. She claimed that she was fascinated by the art, something which he could agree on given d'Artagnan's abilities, but he couldn't say he was completely in awe of the latter part of her answer.

"Horses and animals?" He questioned rhetorically, cocking an ear to the side as he thought a moment. In the depths of his mind, he wondered if she even knew much of the Basin yet, or had caught word of the Plague. He doubted either, but he would find out.

"Might I give you a scenario, Vilo?" A pause was given, granting the mare time to answer before the Weaver continued. "Let's say you happen upon an ailing Pegasus from a neighboring herd. We could use the World's Edge as an example; they are calling for help, for they've fractured one of those precious bones in their wings. Would you help them?"

As he spoke, it was increasingly difficult not to seethe at the thought of helping one of those forsaken, winged freaks. But with a deep breath, Crowley was able to keep his expression clean of any disgust. He could only hope that she would answer to his liking.