<font color=#e4e0d7><i>�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�</i></font>

Your King Asmodeus
Your Queen ~~Nyimara~~
The Second None
The Herd Name, Name, Name		The Sub-Herd Name, Name, Name
Allies Name (Land)		Enemies Solomon (Cove)
The Rules There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue. We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc. The King and Queen have final say in all matters.

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare.�
Posted on October 7, 2015 at 04:37:40 AM by el halin

El Halin

The Gods could not have been more fortuitous. The Blind Seer is within her reach, and El Halin cannot help but taunt her� �The others are dead,� she says, and smiles kindly as the black mare�s faded black coat ripples above tense muscles. �How does it feel to be the last of your kind, Aran?�

The High Seer lifts her foot to take a step forward, to begin the execution of the Blind Seer and fulfill the prophecy that will bolster the Arabian herd�s morale and lead them to assured victory, her head high and nostrils flaring wide in anticipation of this most auspicious defeat, when they are joined by another: this one running at formidable full speed, slamming shoulder to flank to disable the half-breed in less than a breath. The High Seer half-pivots away to keep herself clear of the fight, but it is short-lived and despicable. Still, she is riveted. The black mare falls from the force of the hit and cannot even manage to stand up and face her own death, though she tries, and ultimately that is the mutt�s undoing: as she tries to rise the newcomer brings her forehooves down and the two collide in an ugly sound. The Blind Seer falls. It is done.

And not by the High Seer�s own hooves. Nor Iftikhar�s, which would have been tolerable because she, at least, was a proper Purebred Arabian. El Halin�s freckled chest swells with outrage as she swings her dished face to the sleek black bitch who�d ruined it all. �You,� she says, and though she wants nothing more than to lunge forward and grasp the Akhal-Teke�s slender, undulating throat and pinch it closed so that she suffocates, El Halin allows no undercurrent of her hate to show through in either her voice or her bearing. Instead, she smiles. �You did not give me your name, last time we spoke.�

mare // arabian // fleabitten gray // fourteen.three hh // eight // uforia

�Beware she who suckles from the Walking Mare�

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