That frigid northern wind, tinged with scents of sea and charred earth, beckoned him onward. And so onward he flew, dark wings carrying him to the heart of this frozen kingdom, his midnight pelt drab in comparison to the beauty of its evening sky; for there the aurora borealis danced with those shimmering shades of azure and emerald playing against one another in a never-ending flirtation. For all his years, for all his scars, for all that he was, still Cassiell could admire the beauty of that sky.

And admire it he did.

Strong wings surging in self-assured strokes, the brute continued on in his foray, forging ever-deeper into a territory he had no business being in. And while he flew, his molten gaze skimmed the granite island unfurling far below, its scarred surface telling a story just as surely as his own marred form told such a tale all its own. But as for the story in question? Being a stranger to these lands, he couldn't even begin to guess at what had happened here. The black glass shimmered upon the beach like so many broken dreams. The charred trees of the forest in the distance gaped at him in a grotesque pantomime of a smile. And then there was the fire -- those blue flames which burned with all the insatiable fury of the devil himself there beside that heart-shaped lake.

The irony of it all.

It was to that latter point that the midnight pegasus was inevitably drawn, his curiosity luring him in closer and closer until hooves of tarnished bronze were finally digging into the earth there at the lakeside to carry him onward on foot. Wings tucking alongside his ribcage, he lifted his skull heavenward and tested at the air, nostrils flaring as he drank in deeply of the various scents ghosting along the frigid breeze. Upon his subsequent exhale, his breath unfurled before him in wisps of fog like dragon smoke as he drew to a pause before the burning tree. Azure flames reflected within the depths of his golden gaze, he simply stood there and looked upon the peculiar sight of it all -- an ebon phantom in truth on this night as he was being bathed in the flickering tongues of that never-failing, eerie glow.

He heard her, sensed her, and smelled her all at once, though he made no move to turn and gaze upon the one approaching him in the darkness. There was the crunch of delicate hooves upon the snow which sent his right ear to flicking momentarily as he took note of the sound. There was the telltale hint of her scent toying upon the frigid breeze -- a scent he drank in of deeply and carefully filed away for later perusal. And then there was something else entirely, an aura, a feeling that grazed against him as he stood, stoic and still, beneath the caress of the never-wavering azure fire. It was rage, a clear and palpable sensation, as though the mare's anger had taken on a life all its own.

And then there she was before him, scarred and dark and wreathed in crimson starlight. He looked down upon her, clearly unrepentant despite his intruder status. Hot and intense as it ever was, his molten gaze was unwavering as it skimmed the femme's countenance, her form, her wings, before finding her swirling eyes again.

Still silent, still unmoving aside from the rise and fall of his chest as he drew in breath and the puffs of fog which unfurled past his nostrils with each exhalation, the winged stallion continued to merely watch, to take her all in, for a few moments more before he finally breathed out a single word in way of answer to her question: "Curiosity." That collection of syllables was soft between them, as though he was confiding a great secret to her. Or perhaps it was something else entirely which brought his rumbling baritone down to an almost intimate volume on this particular occasion. Something about the clear scars this land bore -- so like the scars which littered the petite yet fiery creature before him -- which lent a hushed quality to his tone.

The Isle she had called this place. A fitting enough name he supposed, all things considered. Yet another piece to the puzzle that was Beqanna which he was slowly, so slowly, beginning to solve. But there were still so many questions he had yet to ask, still so many secrets which had yet to be uncovered. All in due time, he knew. But still. He hungered to know.

Looming over the other as was his general way, still the great brute broadcast a clear, relaxed sort of stance. No muscle was tensed. His body wasn't poised to strike. For all that he could have posed a threat -- a hulking stranger lurking in the darkness -- he did his best to showcase that he wasn't one. Not right now, at any rate. Not tonight.

"But," he spoke again, his dark, thundering voice a mere murmur. "Perhaps you can sate said curiosity in a small way." With his head canting ever-so-slightly to the side, he drank in again of the scarred femme's scent before asking quite plainly, "Are you the lady of these lands?"