The cold had faded into a tolerable level of chill, the darkness disallowing for Birdsong's true warmth to shine down upon the valley of unicorns, and Illynx had found that the change of the season and lack of a change in much else had brought her mood to an even lower degree of loathing. Often, she wondered what curse had been placed upon her at her birth - from the death of her parents, to her long term alienation from any semblance of a herd life, to the disaster that had wound up being the Plague and her return to the foundation's side. It was hard to feel as if she was successful at her job when the darkness had allowed multiple foals to be swept out from under their hooves; even harder still when the stand-still of her company was brought to mind, the fact that her blade had not tasted the blood of a hornless in far too long. It was not that she did not thirst for it, herself, but that she had been warned of stepping too boldly by Psyche within moments of her return to the snow clad home of the unicorns, and despite her general lack of respect towards the others of their herd she did hold the feather adorned Lady in the highest regards.

She was beginning to resent the direction of her heart.

Even after having defended the Basin from the lightning dragon, she was restless with herself, with the complacency of their delightfully sinful little gathering; the devil within them all was growing fat and lazy, and she refused to submit to the boredom so easily. But, what was there to do? She wished for no more disasters to befall the land, but perhaps that of the Plague, doubts lingering about that subject more plainly than any other - crammed between a rock and a hard place, she found herself pacing upon war-torn limbs about the perimeter of the mountain valley, her ears held backwards at a distressed angle as her thoughts rumbled like a tremendous rock slide within her brain. She returned to the circular argument that she and Deodat had held, how their logic had negated the other time and time again, each ring more depressing than the last.

They were strong cowards, or they were weak warriors. Either way, she was not satisfied with the results, and her sour expression told of her bitter mood long before she could be asked if there was a crack in her bottle of cheer.

@[Zikar-Sin]
Sinny first please, then others are welcome if Smithers agrees. <3