Crisp morning air whistled softly against plum-tipped feathers, their delicate contours gliding with ease against the gentle morning breeze. Drops of amber sunlight sifted through their downy conformations as the silvery fronds of her mane and tail undulated humbly in her wake. Slender legs were folded neatly beneath her ashen form as she sailed across a veil of velvety azure, the hard sheath of her hooves suspended just low enough to break the top of the clouds that shrouded the horizon. Plum eyes scanned the golden line that permeated the skyline, nostrils flexing with each intake of air.

She cannot help but be reminded of Isilme, of Perpetua, the land reserved to only those of her own blood - the pegasi. Angling her harlequined form downward, the argent bodies tore asunder, making way for the dappled pilot. Dew clung to silvern plumes, her lungs imploring for oxygen, eyes of dulcet lavender squinched as they searched avidly for a break in the clouds. Just as she found her body pleading for air, the giant mass gave way to emerald valleys many feet below, relief repleting her body as she gasped. She inspired a deep breath and held it within her cavernous chest before it finally pushed past black lips: a thin puff of smoke.

Dished hooves found the earth, landing with a faint thud as they connected with seas of swaying emerald. The long stalks bent with the impellent down-surge of her wings before they were furled with care atop the smooth slope of her back. She looked around, her eyes finding nothing but a formation of mountainous ledges surrounding the perilous spray of a large cascade. She moved toward the structure, craning her neck to peer down at the water's destination. This must be the Windtossed Foothills, the land Paladin has told her about, though she was not entirely certain. She was simply exploring this new, foreign land, diffident of what new discoveries might be awaiting her.

Valhalla wasn't in the most social of moods. She wasn't necessarily anticipating the company of another, but should someone find her, so be it.

A snort erupts from velvety nostrils as the crescendo thud of hoof-beats gather a swifter rhythm. She arcs her dark face to glance at the orechestrator, her amethyst gaze falling upon the pristine ashen form of an unfamiliar mare.

A look of disinterest swarms trough her plum optics as she regards the stranger, combating the urge to roll her eyes at the manner in which she is greeted. She refrains from doing so due to the way this mare carries her elegant form, the grandiose of her words egressing from her lips with an air of strength that was evident in most who retained a respectable rank. The silvern damsel superfluously attempts to loosely match her proud stance, observing indifferently as she stoops down in the posture of a bow.

She cannot help but feel somewhat amused. She had basically trespassed into foreign territory, expecting to be chastised by a leader for doing so, and yet is still greeted in an amiable manner. "Hello, I am Valhalla." She watches her curiously, lowering her head in a silent notion indicative of harmlessness as well as in farther salutation. "I come in search of a home."