Her creamy mane tangles in the breeze as she moves through the spring grasses with a bold stride. She is a slender thing – quite beautiful and all too aware of the fact. Though she and her brother had only recently settled there, she brings with her the scent of the Desert (dry heat and rough sand). Regardless, she had decided she would see him again. She had liked the ease of him, the quick wit and the charm, though she is far from being lovestruck – like he’d said, interesting company passes the time. And when she has so much of it to pass, she would not deny herself the pleasure of such company as Magnus’ promised to be.

Tossing her shapely head, she surveys the gentle land with sharp almond eyes. The kingdom might have suited Ikaro well, had he not made up his mind otherwise the minute the magician had spoken into the secret of their thoughts. The recollection irks her still – it had been a presumptuous invasion, and an unwelcome one at that. As for Nao, perhaps the Gates would have been too still and too peaceful a place. The corner of her mouth tilts, remembering how he had called it Heaven. And maybe it was, for some; but Nao wonders whether Magnus considers it his. Maybe it was only hers – this ‘someone’ to whom he makes promises. Promises he endeavors to keep.

Perhaps she might meet this her here, too.

Her call is short (self-assured), and soon she glimpses the winged buckskin drawing near through a sunlit grove. She smiles and closes the distance between them herself. The shadow of freshly-bloomed leaves cast hazy patterns across the sorrel of her coat. “Magnus,” she greets him, her voice liquid and smooth, “How are you?” Her eyes look over him, unabashed in their interest. “You promised me tales from beyond the deep blue, which I've come to collect.”  He was a handsome thing – after all, she would know – and so she leans in, brushing her muzzle indulgently across the silky feathers of one wing. Drawing back, she tilts her head at him rather casually. “This isn't a bad time, I hope?” And she blinks up at him, a subtle flash in the rich almond of her gaze.