He cannot hear the soft squishing of her approaching hooves in the damp sand, disguised as they are by the hissing and rumbling of the sea. But he sees her a long way off from his peripheral vision, and waits patiently for the dark vision that is Sova to reach his side. Once she is there beside him, he turns his head, neck arched, and extends his nose to hers in friendly greeting. Troubled as he is, he's in a fine enough mood to still manage a small smile as he meets her eyes. Encantador can tell almost immediately, however, that something's on her mind; and, right on cue, it's only a moment before she gently verbalizes her concerns.

Sova's turned to stand parallel beside him, and so he returns his gaze to the ocean, his dark eyes squinting as the sun reflects and refracts on the dancing waves. He can feel the warmth of her body beside him, and though it's almost stifling given the already warm day, there's a pleasant sort of comfort to it that reminds him he's no longer alone. "Are you my little prophet?" he replies quietly, and struggles to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. Then a third voice, strong and accented, reaches them, and Encantador lifts his eyes to meet El Aran's questioning gaze. He's a little surprised by her question, and stands there being buffeted by the sea breeze for a moment before he manages a response.

"Yes; she stopped by for a visit a while ago. She lived in the badlands when I was allies with Tuff Luck, if I recall correctly." His ears flick back with concern, and he eyes his dark-featured partner carefully to gauge her reasons for postulating such a random question. "Why?"