The silence before an impending storm is often a formidable adversary. The eerie quiet that envelopes the world as animals seek shelter and the sun shrinks behind clouds laden with heavy tears and the promise of echoing thunder soon to be unleashed. This is the manner in which he will find Anne's arrival. The gracious months spent around Jaskier at the Harbor had provided nourishing empowerment that the mare craved as well as physical nutrition to heal her formerly gaunt frame. Her journey today was far less arduous than her arrival to her true home. She strides forth with determination oozing with the scent of malicious intent. While she is normally one with heightened emotions and reactions to follow, the calculated way in which she was ripped away from a life that was finally blossoming into more has produced a scarily measured yet barely contained rage. He has asked for her - prepare yourself, for she is no longer an injured lamb. She faces her kidnapper as nothing less than a lion.

Her movements are graceful even in her fury - black-striped hooves easily finding hold on the shore as she emerges from the depths of the sea. Almost immediately the dreaded stench that had lingered within the Harbor assaults her delicate nostrils, and her head whips viciously to accost the man who spirited her away with the righteous indignation that burns white-hot behind amber eyes. Her frame, while no longer skeletal, is still quite lean - this alone is a massive improvement upon the bag of bones previously associated with Anne. An exasperated snort escapes her as she maneuvers toward this Frey. He is a giant compared to the dainty blue woman, yet her path does not waiver. He will provide answers for his atrocities.

She only ceases her plight once she is close enough to strike if she chose. Fluted ears flick back against her skull to show her displeasure as she keeps her haunting gaze upon him. "What gave you the right to rip me from my home with a summon befitting a hapless dog?" Her words are ice - formidably cold and scathing at the same time. "Jaskier will come for me, and you will pay in blood and bone." Her last words are spit out vehemently, though the backside of her delicate mind wonders if this is true. Surely Jaskier will come for me. Outwardly she remains the image of ferocity, but inside she is already in shambles. How could things have come to this - being stolen away in the blink of an eye.