Darkling creature slinks silently across the border, following the faint scent of the champagne mare she met a handful of days ago upon the meadow. Her gait is stilted, front limb dragging just enough to draw notice as the heat in her shoulder pounds away angrily. Jagged mark upon her nose, crusted over with the remnants of frost-dried blood, provides a stark contrast to an otherwise lovely face. If her pelt were not pure ebony, she too would be sporting the deep violent of murky bruises, those her are upon her muscled chest. Pitiful she would appear to any eyes, and perhaps this is the reason she truly decided to pursue the only being that she may be able to adhere the label friend upon.

Her own bright eyes, golden and alert despite her condition, latch upon the trio as Bane's words reach her dainty ears. A soft chuckle escapes her lips, riding away on the breeze as quickly as she summoned the sound. She continues toward the group, limping as she must, coming to a standstill beside the one she has met previously in the common area. Long forelock falls haphazardly across her face, and she huffs it away in exasperation. "She is no worse fer wear" she states in her Scottish lilt, all the while resisting the urge to toss a wink at the painted mare. She can almost sense the apprehension from Bane, and for that she feels a pinch of remorse for being the cause of worry. However poorly the two sparring partners may look, at least their wounds are of equal standing. More importantly, at least they neither were caught in a duel demanding a life.

Her gaze drifts to the youngest of the group - the only member she has not had the chance to become acquainted with. A brief nod of hello, but she will wait for answers to questions that surely the other mare's have asked. Not often do groups simply gather without the uttering of polite conversations, which she abhors. How unfortunate she continues to find herself in such situations.