Blackfeather Woods she is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

The chuff has her spinning round, curious; the sight of the man before her, even more so. One look at him dispels the notion that he is family, with his silver mane and icy eyes. Still, though, he is intriguing, and she pads toward him, tail swinging behind her, a glint in her indigo gaze as she sizes him up. He is larger than her by far, but she is not afraid. She has never been afraid of brutes like this.

Greetings, sir, Megara croons, a small smile blooming over her slender muzzle. I am new to the area and curious about all the different places I am seeing. Tell me, what do you call this place? she asks, looking up at the dark canopy. It is fearsome, no doubt. Fit for great warriors, and things of mystery.

Had she been younger, she might seduce him. As it is, the youngster--big as he was--likely sees her as a grandmother figure, well past her prime. Ah. At least she lived that kind of life when she was able.