The doe let her ears relax against her finely sculpted head, craning her neck with easy grace to examine the pinecone. Oh, surely he wasn't going to eat that? Except he was. Every crunch made her wrinkle her nose, an absurd grin blossoming upon her visage.
"My good sir, it pains me to watch you eat that. You are surely welcome to share the last of the dandelions," she chuckled, her voice ringing with soft, bell-like undertones.

Hooves shifted forward as she half turned to observe the Silverside Mountains, watching the sunlight glance off of slopes already capped with snow. An ear flickered at the Captain's words and she harrumphed lightly. "What, those mangy fleabags? I'd turn a cougar on its ear in an instant. Probably all frozen, anyway, if they prowl around up there." She shivered at the thought. Winters were harsh enough on the ground, much more so in the barren mountaintops. She wondered, though, about the state of the herd. Or what was left of it. Their numbers didn't thrive as they had before, and she hoped the promise of the coming winter would drive vagrant ruminants to seek adequate shelter, perhaps within the boundaries of Hill territory.

She wondered distantly if their rival herd was in as much a slump for activity. The Misted Glen had fallen under new leadership, not that she cared to wander so far just to get a name. When winter had come and gone, so would begin the struggle for expanding herd lands, to find new places of untouched growth for their clans to graze. The choicest places were on the opposite side of the Rosewood, closer to the Glen than Thistle liked. Eventually, their embassy would assemble to perhaps negotiate an agreement, and the Dragonfly Queen could only hope there would be more stags to back her by that time.

The thought of a doe leading a herd into new lands, or even into battle, might have seemed preposterous. Thistle held the element of surprise in great reverence, and always tended to take a turn toward the unexpected. She was a strategist, and enough of a fighter to carry out her plans when necessary.

Blowing softly, her breath hung visible in the air a moment.
"So peaceful... Too peaceful. Do you think it's the cold, or could it be an omen?" She wasn't superstitious, didn't dabble in luck and chance, but the idea still lingered in her head like the taste of bitter persimmons.