Horse? She was no horse! Fury filled the mighty warrior as she stormed into the room, letter that had eventually reached her in her hidden fortress screwed up in hand. Violently she threw it in a wad at the feet of the man before her, eyes ablaze, jaw set. Indeed, the man had dragged her from her retirement, built up a fury within the faun, essentially forced her hand ... Yet here she was.

The ball of paper rolled until it hit his boot toes, as she came to stand opposite him, legs fiercelessly steady and set apart, hand resting on the hilt of her mighty sword Nameless. Her hair was pulled tightly back, the now purely chestnut brown hair long and matted, and no makeup to hide the scars and old wounds. She was fitted with her drakescale and chain breastplate, but aside from that was all without adornment, the old jewelry gone, the practicality of motherhood having taken over everything.

"You," she hissed. "Max Dirks."