Attention and memory failed the Lady Amalthea as it always had since the magic of a bumbling second rate pick pocket had transformed her from her once mythical state to that of her current form. The question that had left her lips had all but withered and died from her mind as she stood there looking at Ser Carver upon his steed. 

	Then a voice caught what little attention was left within her and her gaze swept from him to the new comer with a poetically graceful turn of her slender neck; hair sweeping over her shoulder and falling to points past the back of her knees. Another stranger on the road to the castle, this was an extraordinary evening, or at least it would have been if she could remember the last time even one crossed the narrow path. 

	"King Hagard resides behind the walls of the castle," she answered quietly. Few names and people did she remember but Molly, her servant, and the King were two that seemed to always be there. Yet it was not luck that gave her such strong memory with their names and faces, there was a far more mythical reasoning behind it. They knew what she was so it clung to her heart without knowing why.

	Her pale lips fell silent after answering the question and she stood there, perfectly still. Only gentle flesh and the wave of hair in the wind gave away that she was more than a porcelain statue. Not even the the rocks beneath her soft shoed feet moved nor did her toes to grip them. She just stood there, statuesque in poise and appearance.