It was all peculiar. It was all so very, very peculiar, that Iophiel found herself wondering at it in the few moments they had before the silence was broken. For as it was, the Queen of the Mountains had answered the black wolfs call, her grey and silvered frame coming quick into view, violet irises with their starbursts of lemon around the pupil eager at the sight of her. For while the grown, mostly pale wolf was indeed a wolf of the physical, spiritual, otherwordly and so on realms, she was still one to enjoy appealing things. And the one that ruled the mountaintop was exquisite in her finesse, something Iophiel found herself admiring and enjoying. At the pleasant, formal nature of her introduction, she gains a gentle and graceful nod from the mostly white wolf, attention momentarily turning to the black wolf beside her who then introduced himself. His name is Fenrir, of old Moladion, a time long before herself, though one she knew her Father had been a part of. Perhaps they had known one another once, or perhaps not, but her Father had nothing to do as to her presence at the Mountain.

When it was that a pause came between the three, the youngest wolf took her turn at an introduction, playing her hand at the formal manner in which the two prior had done so. "A'm Iophiel Starborne, of startouched angel blood, once born to Diveen soil thoa well versed in soils of each realm." Her attempt perhaps fell short when her own unique and odd accent came through her words, and even then her choice of words not quite matching their own. But it was what she had, and what she gave them, and in this she was content. It did not take long, however, for her to begin to feel a rather familiar sensation. And with that sensation came the scent of the boy from years gone past, the beautiful boy of rich chocolates and caramel higlighting his very frame. Violet eyes with their starbursted pupils watch intently from the direction his scent came from, and though her eyes do not find his immediately, she finds his legs and his broad chest, his ample muscles moving beneath his lush coat and making her ache to reach out to him. In this moment, it is as if the entire world slips away, Fenrir and the Daenerys included, so that there is only she and the darker, richer toned one.

A soft whine cannot be helped as it fell from her lips, past her charcoal dipped jaw and to the space at her paw. It is when he is finally close that her bright, intense gaze finds his own of soft evergreen, seeking those same pale flecks there she recalls from so long ago, the very foundations of the earth seeming to shift and move in that one very specific moment. She had found he who she sought at last, and it is with a pleased gleam to her exotic gaze that she approaches with few paw steps forward, her muzzle tempted to brush against his own but she refrains. She knows she is right in her identification, and that this has to be him, but as for what might happen after she found him, well, perhaps the wolf had not yet gotten that far. As it was, they had only seen each other one other time before, before it was she had taken her leave from Moladion all together. He himself had been partly reason for that, but it was mainly simply because she could not accomplish all that she had in the confines and restraints that Moladion had to offer. There were other lands out there, other worlds and realms and a plethora of things that hardly any knew about, and yet she had uncovered and discovered so many things. She wondered if her dark toned one, her Taliesin, she had finally recalled, knew of any such things. She would ask him, when it was they had a moment to themselves, for often others did not wish to hear of such things. But she knew her imprint would listen to whatever she might have to say- at least the most confident part of the wolf knew.

In a passing thought, Iophiel answers the question Dany had given prior, even if it was a bit out of turn or perhaps later than it should have been. And it is but a breath of a whisper upon her lips, her intense gaze never leaving that of Taliesin's, unwilling to break the spell or the notion that perhaps this was not in any reality but in any not reality. Occasionally such things were hard to decipher, and as sure as she was it was real, there was still a dream like quality to it that felt so surreal, it almost made her doubt herself. Almost. "For him." The words are simple, the words are brief, and it is as if once more, things are out of mind and unfocused as she watches him, unable to draw herself away from such a thing as the other half of her very soul.