you came along and you cut me loose - " />
The Lost Islands
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Peak

The Prime Minister

Khar'pern

The Codebreaker

Ashteroth

The General

Marceline

The Companions
None None None

The Thinkers

Naydra
Titan

The Politicians

Ararat
Axelle
Hollis
Mae
Nashira
Serenity

The Warriors

Clarity
Kaeja
Lysimache
Starling

The Trinkets

Beloved
Cato
Cullen
Güneşlenmek
Isengrim
Jigsaw
Kazimir
Octavius
Starscream
Yıldırım

PRIME MINISTER'S DECREE

"None." - Leader

The Offspring

Diccon (Cicada x Khar'pern)

Rules

• The Vulcan Peak is where homeless mares come to live as a sisterhood. Stallions may not live here except as captives or companions for the Leaders.

• Warriors keep mainly to fighting, Thinkers keep mainly to raiding, and Politicians may do both, neither, or act as diplomats. Members may issue their own battles and raids, but should generally consult the General, Codebreaker or Prime Minister for permission.

• All major decisions are determined by vote, but the Prime Minister maintains order within the Peak and has the final say.

• Elections for leadership positions will be held every TLI summer, provided the qualifying criteria are met.

• You can find detailed information about how the Peak works on the Rules page.
you came along and you cut me loose
Posted on June 17, 2015 at 12:53:00 PM by i N K A




Inka ignored her father’s question at first. Instead she tiptoed forward quietly, her hooves muffled in the dead grass, until she was nose-to-nose with him. Her dark eyes searched his milky amber ones as though to confirm that he had not miraculously regained his sight in the time they’d been apart. She looked up and down his long, aged face, examing the wrinkles of confusion burrowed there, and then reached forward to touch his nose. She felt her father flinch, but thankfully he did not pull away. For a few moments, father and daughter were able to enjoy each other’s company for the first time in years.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Dad,” Inka whispered, shutting her eyes tight against the threat of tears. “I was so worried about you. I looked for you for so long.”

Het Vuur said nothing, and for that the mare was grateful. Knowing him, he was likely thinking that she had not searched long or hard enough, but it seemed that he was finally becoming gentler in his old age.

Pulling away from her sire, Inka’s teary eyes lowered to lock gazes with Sterre. Her expression was guarded and careful as she spoke, but her words were measured and genuine. “Thank you for staying with him. For being there when I couldn’t.” Then Inka tore her gaze away, as if embarrassed to be sharing such sentimental words with someone she had never warmed to.

“Mom?” The shy little voice behind her reminded Inka that there were still introductions to be made. Her throat tight, she tossed a glance behind her and saw that Jetta was standing there stiffly with one ear flicked backwards. Her uncertain blue eyes were, as ever, in stark contrast to the clean white of her face and dark brown cloak of her lithe body. In a twisted way, Inka found herself grateful that her father could not see that she had sullied their family’s lineage by breeding with a non-Friesian. It was almost a blessing, really.

“Jetta, come here,” Inka called gently, and the girl sauntered forward until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with her mother. Her pale eyes darted back and forth between the two horses before her – or rather, down and up, given that she had already nearly surpassed Sterre in height.

Inka gestured with her nose to Het Vuur. “Meet your grandfather. Dad, meet Jetta.”

Stallion and filly both stood perfectly still for a long, painful moment. Inka was disturbed to see that Het Vuur’s ears were pinned flat against his head, which she guessed was what was keeping Jetta fixed so firmly in place. But then, as the seconds ticked by, one ear came forward – then two. And Het Vuur began to move, one step after the other, until he was nearly standing over his granddaughter. His sightless eyes searched and his nostrils flared as his snout lowered, inch by inch, until he had found the girl’s head. Jetta flinched under his touch, but thankfully stood still as her grandfather drew in a long, deep breath of her scent. He stood there a long time, his nose repeatedly prodding the girl’s face, as if he were trying to build a mental map of her features, but the longer it carried on the more Jetta became visibly uncomfortable. “Dad, that’s enough,” Inka said gently, stepping forward to pointedly bump her father’s shoulder.

Het Vuur said nothing, but when he pulled back at his daughter’s request, his face had slackened and his eyes had softened. He looked almost sentimental in that moment, as if Jetta had awoken something within him. Inka watched him quietly tuck his chin to his chest and stand there with all the forbearing of a gentle giant, as if he had never once been a violent, battle-hungry dictator. It was an image of her father that Inka would not forget in a hurry.

“Are you my grandmother?” Jetta said suddenly, and Inka’s head whipped around to see that her yearling daughter had turned her attention to Sterre. Stomach tight, she waited to see what the mare’s response would be.

i N K A
friesian mare of the peak

html & character by shiva; image altered with artist’s permission



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