The painted form covered the grounds easily. Summer was a blessed season for Beqanna and made travel easier since the floods of spring had been tamed and the foliage is lush and thick and made foraging easier. Green eyes see the familiar outline of the Chamber and a small smirk wrinkled her lips.

Long ago, her father had been king. A magnificent bastard that still haunted Beqanna on occasion. Cryil did not expect to see his shape drifting about but she did imahine this would be a place that would welcome her. The young mare does not expect Tatter's name to be remembered. The throne was held by the magma king. A horse of lava, pain, and destruction.

Lobes are moving as strong limbs slow the projection of her muscular form. She knows that her entrace will be met soon. Nails dig into the warm sod, flecking across the milky white of her hide. A short call lifts her soprano vocals of her arrival. Skull moves and presses her muzzle towards her chest, curling the thick neck and protecting her tender throat from any unforeseen ambush.

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