Would she ever return to her former abode in the Basin? The garron weighed the thought for a moment, wondering how many familiar faces remained there. Very few of the ones recollected sparked any longing within her; they were not as pure in the cause anymore. A bitter taste spread in her mouth, for she remembered all too well the decline in standards that had characterized the herd the last time she had been there. Her harsh judgment softened slightly at the thought of her pale liege, wondering if he had reclaimed his rightful throne from the aggravating wench that had possessed it in his absence. Tiny nares flared widely against the icy wind, prickling with the scent of something oddly familiar, at first unable to identify its source. Had her arrival been discovered already? Hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, she thought to herself dryly, snorting grumpily.

That was when brown gaze settled upon the dancing form of a russet femme, moving closer through the masses of ice and snow. Lobes flicked, optics widened slightly in startled disbelief – what are the odds? She had hoped to encounter the kind-hearted minx at some point or another, but that Lena would be the first to welcome her back in the lands of Helovia was unexpected, to say the least. The corners of her lips betrayed her neutral exterior by pulling upwards almost unnoticeably, recognizing that really there were no one else she would rather see at this moment. Of course Lena was to be found here, putting her sweet face to work in recruiting fresh meat for the herd. The garron was sometimes unsettled by her, simply because someone so joyful and positive did not mix in well with the warrioress’ view of the world. They were infinitely different; one being a socially crippled racist with a mouth on her, the other being so sweet and outgoing you couldn’t help but love her.

Korra stood motionless, words of greeting captured by her fluffy lobes and returned with deep alto chords of her own, raw and rasping as she had of habit. “Lena, it has been too long,” were the words offered, not revealing further of her whereabouts up to this point. At least not yet. In due time, she might indulge the youthful belle in tales of murder and dust, but the time wasn’t now. Scarred face was turned upwards, exchanging a whiff of warm breath in friendly greeting with the taller mare, before attention was turned to a small canine in Lena’s wake. Sturdy figure was repositioned, fleeting suspicion drifting across rugged features. “Who do we have here?” was the simple question posed, the garron turning her antlered crania to glance at Lena once more.

thrilling to think, poor child of sin
- it was the dead who groaned within