In some sick trick of the Gods, I had gained the ability to break from the Frozen Arch and drag my leg towards the Threshold, where weary idiots populated the area in heavy masses that would leave them to follow me back to the Arch, where they would be turned into Assassins. Then after the lengthy process they'd face, would be used as however we saw them fit. The idea alone brought a smile to face. Everyone was lacking a brain, and the great ones like myself were used to molding and welding them into whatever form we wanted them to become. Saffiatta Hecate would feel her stomach churn at what the hardships of this place did to me, while Onsoun might smile and praise me with the words of 'Good job keeping the boys away from my little princess.' My siblings, I only knew of Hecatia now, and she seemed to disappear like my daughter did. My worries were spread out between Hecatia and Sikeax, but my current situation left my useless except for the low task of bringing home new members to manipulate.
A couple of moons seemed to pass with the night, over time taking the wounds with them. Sections of my black mane that were torn away in my battle with Thor began to grow back, the bite marks across my shoulders and chest turning to fresh scars. They leaped off my white coat, while the blood that embedded itself into my hind right cannon was a hauntingly reminder of all that occurred. That wound had only recently began to heal, my limp not gone just yet. On occasion, I thought of Knox and Faelon, how Knox seemed defeated when Faelon still became prisoner with myself. When the memory replayed in my mind, I laughed. Neither of them had the laugh directed towards them, but it was nice to know that I had gone about and caused a fuss like that.
Beneath, the earth shakes, my awkward build shaking and the wound asking me with needle-like pricks of pain what was happening. A cringe of discomfort lacked the ability to slide over my face when the minor earthquake ends. The black flame inside my chest roars to a new heightened hatred as I think of who fucking dare do that to me. Clearly, they had no idea what they were against, the Devil's Advocate herself.
The pair of pale blue eyes of mine were shut when the pain touched me, yet when the world returned to a milk tinted abyss, here lay something extraordinary in front of me. Thor had left a certain seedling of hatred for winged draft, the wound I placed at the base of his wing enough to remind him that I didn't take shit, and he wasn't taking an exception. What seemed to drop out of the sky just in front of me, like a gift from Luna for me to have some sick pleasure (and some for herself, if anything). He stood there as if there was going to be someone giving him gifts at his arrival. A snear breaks across my face at the idea of even gifting him my pleasures. No, they didn't need much of me anymore.
"Oh, lookie here. What a wonderful gift just for myself! A fucking draft again, with wings. Who do you think you are, Boy? Do you think that upon your arrival here we would show you in gifts and beg you to come home with us? I shalln't give you gifts, but if it is a home you need, there is room for another Assassin at a certain system of frozen caves and caverns north of here. Wouldn't that just please you?"
When there was silence from my words, I laughed at him in a rude manner. The Arch was a grand place to stay, and the Basin being our neighbors, it ensured us safety from attacks. Not a day went by that I was pleased with Ignita's choice of home. The Unicorns of the Basin didn't take anything, like myself, and there wasn't much in the North to bring attention to either of us. No herd would ever dare think of having the balls to invade the Basin; even I, the Devil's Advocate, was careful of any connections with my neighbors.
"Now Big Boy, name? You shall call me Adrixaura, none the less. Get it right, or I'll have you like the last one like you." The threat itself could of fallen flat if he had a strong sense of smell and smelt the dried blood upon me. I had only taken a hit for the team, nothing more important than that. Tonka would have to face me soon enough, but if I got took enough minions with me back home, then things could just do just fine.
That being, if Tonka wanted me to fall to my knees and beg for mercy, then he could just personally shove an icicle up his fat ass..

He watches her, as she steps from the shadows with her glowing hawk marking. A gentlemanly smile is placed upon his maw as he listens to the rest of Rasta's words. And, when his gruff voices emerges he says that she needs to learn respect before saying that she didn't matter in the big picture. All that she can do is shake her head in dismay. So young. They do not understand the idiosyncrasies of the world as it beats around them. It seems an impossible feat to actually take a look at that big picture as they say it is called and none of them understand that one action can start such a domino effect as you watch each of the threads fall apart. "Everyone matters in the big picture, sir. One action leads to other actions. It changes someone's day, which will then change the next person's day and so forth. Anyone can change the ever forming picture..." she explained, swishing her tail ever so gently before explaining who she was.

He watched her, as if he was listening intently, and when his voice rings in the air again such notes are evident. Though, he calls her Miss White she takes no offense to the title, and only wishes that those she has barely met would stop addressing her as if she were of a higher authority than them. He does not seek a herd, only to wander. No ties for the winged stag. No true family. Perhaps someday he would take her up on that offer, but as for now he only wished to stay the nomad that his heart called for. Perhaps, if he had the knowledge from the age that she was gifted, he would have joined the herd and settled down. Perhaps, if he had realized that nomads were generally broken unless in a group, that he wouldn't have cared that he was tied to a group of people who would have cared. But that was not to be.

She asked for his name, wishing to know what she might call him, other than sir. He smiled at her, no malice in his stature toward Rasta at the least, and so when he spoke back up he did give his name. Oliver. She circled the name in her cranium a few times in order to lock it in place before he asked if she could tell him where exactly he was. "Perhaps some other time than, Oliver, you can come and see the Throat and meet more people. You are in the Threshold of Helovia. It's generally where people come to gather new members of their ever-growing family, to make sure that they all get a home and someone to ensure their safety. I can help lead you out of here and into the general wild - but I would suggest that if you start to run close to a border that you do not cross them. The herds take their safety seriously and would not hesitate to ensure you did not threaten them in any way possible..." She started to explain, swishing her tail for a second as she paused before adding, "Or, I can show you to the Throat and give you the chance to meet new people - no need to stay with us. The desire to move around freely is completely understood, Sir Oliver." she finished before gently dipping her head in a sign of respect. Her head raising back up after a few seconds to peer toward the other mare who she was uncertain as to whether or not she should be completely concerned for Rasta's own safety or not.