She watches as the tall stallion cocks his hind leg to mirror hers, feeling the anger welling from his skin begin to fade. Her eyes slide back up his body to his face, watching as what appears to be intrigue replaces irritation. He comments on her expectations of neutrality, and she smiles again, more genuine this time.

”Ah, I did not expect to leave here unscathed; I am not that stupid. This conversation is, in fact, going more calmly than I expected.” She chuckles, thinking of the expectations she held when she slipped down the Ridge’s spine and into Paradise. Faolain knows where her strengths lie, and she knows brute force is not one of them; she is quick on her feet, and agile, and observant of the moves her opponent makes, but in the unlucky event that her lithe frame gets caught between the angry teeth of someone she’s managed to piss off, she can do little more than thrash and pray. ”Unfortunately for you, I learn better the hard way. You may want to leave a scratch, or I will surely be back to try this again, as the game goes.” She offers another chuckle, her outermost mask slipping just slightly. Luckily for her, her own true face is little more than a mask itself, but the barest hint of enjoyment is now visible in the delicate lines of her face and the glittering of her dark eyes. She loves experimenting, pressing buttons and leaping away when she has gone too far. It helps her learn how better to pull her own puppet strings, how better to function as an efficient machine, and in this case, an efficient leader. Though Rougaru is not exactly acting as she expected he would, she is still learning - and she thinks perhaps she has not gone too far yet. There are buttons she can still press, and she wants to find them, even if she decides against prodding them and earning herself a generous punishment.

He moves closer, and Faolain stands her ground despite his towering presence. She is not easily intimidated, though she does not like the fact that she now has to look up at him to meet his gaze. Out of little more than spite - towards the too-proud Rougaru, but also towards her own small stature and the inconveniences it brings - she thrusts her jaw upward, her small fluted ears pressed forward. She looks something like a cross between a stubborn child and a proud ruler, but the former is almost entirely attributed to her height and her refusal to step back as he approaches.

As he speaks of uniting Atlantis, Faolain’s delicate brows raise. ”An intriguing proposal,” she muses, rolling the idea around in her head. She does not trust Rougaru as an ally (though they are far from that possibility) but even when she issued her challenge, she did not love the idea of him as an enemy, either. Perhaps respectful neighbors is as good a relationship as they are going to get, and it’s miles from the one Faolain expected to earn by attempting to steal from his herd. She has no interest in being ruled by him, however. ”Your leadership of Atlantis,” she says thoughtfully, the words rolling from her mouth with curious inquiry. ”What does that mean for your so-called respectful neighbors?” She cocks her chiseled head to the side, watching and waiting for his response.