Winter is always a confusion of pallor and sadness.

She harks the Lady's call, entertaining precaution in liquid blue eyes. The Basin is a landscape of strangers whose names she does not care to learn - warriors and mages, minstrels and healers. Fine winter white gives way to a blur of colors - black, silver and red; blue, yellow and gold. A fine tapestry indeed, but how many of them are anything more than just transient beings, so eager to alive but so quick to die? Huyana lets her gaze flick from face to face impassively as she comes among the mob, remembering the unrest the Red Dragon had caused, the bitter seed he planted in her heart. So many are ardent to bring about the end of another, no matter how close they are in spirit or relation; everyone is so hungry for false justice in their pursuit of the illusion of greatness. There is no time or want for peace, for love and happiness - it's all forgone in favor of a lust for bigger things, a love of greed. Huyana finds little love for this dark lady and her cunning words - she wonders where the ice king is, in all his cold majesty - surprisingly soft for a lord of ice. The rainchild is not afraid of any threat of bloodshed. She has always retreated into herself in times such as these, finding the comfort of her mind far preferable than glory through bloodshed.

A familiar face is seen through an ocean of strangers, kind amber eyes in a sea of harshness. It takes a moment for the roan to recognize her, but when she does, a small smile presses onto her lips. Lena rests by an evergreen, a little furry pale thing pressed against her body. Unmindful of the words and politics dancing around her like a dangerous ballet, the girl moves closer to the bay, interest keen on her expression, but before any utterance of greeting passes through her lips, another pair of eyes catches her own - bright blue and jewel-bright, bound and sewn against a landscape of dark. She freezes, breath barely passing through her nostrils in a haze of smoke. Deimos. Briefly, Huyana remembers a cold autumn midnight by a lake studded by stars, his nefarious gaze piercing the darkness more than any astral presence could. He stands near the Dark Empress - why didn't she notice him before? A brief look of mild discomfort passes through her face, entwines itself on her horn.

Huyana stands by Lena beneath the fir, hoping to catch her gaze with some semblance of apology. The rainchild is quiet, a dark shadow in a snow-bright world, but the normally joyous nurse seems worried - it does not suit her whimsical features, the girl thinks, looking at her small white consort curiously. So much has happened, she laments, watching Psyche again, distrust and discomfort creasing her expression. "Black dragon," she murmurs, words lost in the frigid wind. I do not like where this is going.
--