The witch is in ill spirits when she is driven from her murky domain. I asked for solace, not responsibility. The girl grinds her teeth together so forcefully that her jaw starts to throb, but she welcomes the pain it brings. It is best that she take out her frustration on herself rather than pick a fight with her sovereign. The noble woman offers sanctuary in the swamp in return for Yana's services -- as agreed upon during their introduction -- but it is her newfound authority that fills her with bitterness. What does she think she's doing? Witches are solitary creatures. Her teeth part to spit out a harsh hack as if to prove the point: witches are selfish, make awful role models, and sometimes burn their nieces.

She is so caught up in her anger that the hag almost misses the confrontation between the two winged creatures. Her starry figure is nearly astride their golden and scaly ones before she realises she is not alone amongst the field. A dark crown stands erect after a moment's hesitation. Who are these people? Their scent is unrecognisable, but that is to be expected of the recluse who seldom leaves the swamp. Normally the witch would ignore the strangers and move on, but her new position no longer allows for her to partake in such ignorance. A debris-sodden tail lashes against her flank whilst her irritation morphs into outrage. I do not have time for this. Against her wishes the midnight mare approaches the duo, careful to gauge their hostility as she joins their conversation. As far as the witch can tell neither stranger seems to pose any particular threat, but her ears flick back against her skull at the scaly brute's final remark.

"There are some who claim the contrary. Beauty takes many different forms, and not all are blessed to see them." Her raspy tones are harsher than usual, but in her current mood the hag finds herself uncaring. Eyes that normally reflect her neutrality in their grey tones flash with the same green of the algae-infested swamp as she shifts her gaze from one to the other. "I am Yana, one of the Champions of this realm. What business do you have here? I've not seen either of you before."

The hag narrows her sickly green gaze when the blackbird speaks. Though the witch doesn't favour conversation,  she has developed a keen sensitivity to varying tones or emotions in speech; it is hard for her to miss the objection perched at the tip of Inkheart's tongue. Lower notes indicating frustration... Or perhaps exasperation. I find it hard to believe that you expected to roam freely in a realm that isn't your own. Surely you knew there would be someone to stop you?

Black lips surprise their owner when the words slipping past them are not spat like bile, "An honourable purpose. All those who can should always pursue knowledge. Regardless, it is not a task to be performed freely. One of our warriors would have been happy to escort you during such an inquiry." And speaking of that... A dark neck twists to address the scaled man, who still has yet to declare his own affairs.

How does one cultivate scales on their hide? Is it some form of disease? The witch has to resist the urge to sniff at his armored shoulder. He looks to be the type that is easily offended. Why else does his body gleam so bright?

"You sound like you're familiar with this realm. Are you also of the Dusk Court?" The more she speaks the more her temper seems to dissipate. "Most know to find me at the swamp. Perhaps your ill regard of my home has prevented us from meeting." The hag's tone is slightly more contemplative than accusing when she makes the suggestion. Her green stare lingers on his pristine image -- mostly to assess him for other signs of illness, but also to compare his careful grooming to her own filthy hide -- before she returns it to the gilded mare. "Forgive me, but I've not met a priestess before. If I am not mistaken they are typically of religious inclination, are they not?" Do you share knowledge as well as pursue it?