It is a matter of some puzzlement as to why Alexander had chosen to summon her here. Here, out of all of the wealth of places he might have chosen to present to his progeny after so long an absence from one another. Though Anastasia finds that she does not mind, the enigma of his intentions does not perturb her; after all, being that her gifted affinity allows her access to knowledge of a great many things with such unfathomable ease, such genuine surprises are few and so very far between. And so does she acquiesce, the requisite bridle hanging innocently from a single arm as sage eyes follow her creator and his obviously joyous mount as they cavort about the paddock.

Anastasia is no stranger to the equine species, Were or otherwise. Equines of such impeccable grandeur and beauty had been a regular fixture in the life of the Russian royalty, her father having seen to it that all of his children were schooled regularly and extensively in the esquestrian art. On more than a single occasion Anastasia's governess had found it exceedingly difficult to, pun quite intended, rein the child in from her time spent within the imperial stables. Such adventures had always held their own peculiar brand of enchantment for the vibrant and untamable Anastasia. With the dusk of her mortal life, however, there had been somewhat of an exchange that had marked the transition from one life into the next. A great many new people, places, and experiences had presented themselves to the once-Duchess, and yet so too had a considerable number of things fallen away from her. And so, tragically, it had been decades since last the auburn-haired woman had found herself perched atop the spine of a horse.

Studiously does glee find its way unto her stark features, culminating in a simper that, though small, is substantial in its rarity. She, like her creator, was of a particularly stoic and detached persona and so rarely did she dote upon others with displays of such gaiety. With Calliel's approach and subsequent boisterous greeting, however, Anastasia would have been remiss had she not allowed the radiance of her subtle grin to linger as her hand reaches up to delicately rest upon the velveteen slope of the equine's nose. A brow pitches in curiousity at the comment of her trusted companion as the Russian damsel relinquishes the bridle to his beckoning hands. It had been nearly a century since Anastasia had formed any true bond with an equine; her experiences in this afterlife, though enjoyable, had never truly been of the caliber and depth of those she had forged during her adolescence. She and Alexander had spoken briefly of this, so many years ago now that it seemed a moot point to quibble over the precise number... but, perhaps, he recalled her fondness for the equine species.

"Calliel," she mimics, the already exotic name transformed by her foreign tongue. "Kak intriguyushchim." How intriguing. The Duchess lingers a moment in what appears to be wordless consideration before obeying the unspoken suggestion of her maker and moving to the equine's side. Despite her rather scant stature in comparison to Calliel's monolithic heft, Anastasia quickly and easily pulls herself unto the spine of the ebony mare. Nostalgia saturates her with its comforting wash at the feel of it all, falsely-delicate hands caressing the young Were's mane and neck before Anastasia reaches for the leather reins.

Anastasia Romanova

Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia