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A soft ocean breeze ruffles her ebony tresses as she stares down the pale golden breeder, trespasser, fool; oh so many names she could call him. Bi-colored eyes quickly flick over his physique, searching for any weakness, any flaw. He was not much taller than her, but just as thickly built. He looked as if he knew his way around HER Ridge, he had sought out the sweet, tender grasses that grew abundantly at the foot of this rock outcrop.

She is pleased when he looks around as if he didn't know that she was speaking directly to him, typical. He declares that he is no tresspasser, that he had lived her long before she marked this ridge. A smirk touches her dark lips, of course he was unfit to lead. He was after-all inferior to the mares that he had dominion over. "Of course, Fenrir. It seems as if your crown has been taken by one who is fit to where it." Her voice sickly sweet, taunting the pale stallion.

She steps forward on her toes, as she moves to his right... Circling him. Her movements smooth, her muscles move fluently under her shimmering roan coat. She circles behind him, and as she comes along his right side, her voice just above a whisper. "Fenrir, you should know that the world is changing. The days of Breeders controlling territories and treating mares as possessions, are numbered." On her home island, those days had been gone for years. There were no pointless battles over who was stronger, who had the most land. No battles were more political, more sophisticated.

Elodie faces him once more, ears swivel toward Fenrir. She reads his face, waiting for the information to process. For him to realize that it was in his best interest to choose the winning side.