A unicorn. She mouths the word to herself, studying the beast with a perplexed sort of look. Was it a carnivore? Is that why it required the horn? Or was it more like a stag, whose males would wage combat in the wilds? This one is female, he says.

She's not the most presentable, with blood on her top and her ragged skirt, more akin to the Dothraki stylings than anything she'd wear during her travels. These sorts of clothing were far more durable and appropriate for more of the laborious tasks with dragons. Still, it doesn't stop her from padding closer, studying the silver with a curious eye. (She dutifully ignores the pang for her own silver, now dead.)

"What sort of magic?"

Her answer of whether she likes or dislikes the creature will come later.