Common

The Queen of the Badlands lingers in the fog, her single seeing eye watches the blurred forms of horses as they pass by her. She revels in the obscurity that the milky, slow moving fog provides to her as it twists and curls around her. Her ears rotate atop her crown, listening for the sound of muffled hooves stumbling through the crusty piles of snow. She twists her skull in the direction of someone as they approach, their gait is uneven and broken.

Out of the fog, he materializes. Life has not been kind to the old man, his ribs jut harshly beneath his dirty mud stained coat, his back sways, and his eyes glare angrily out of the hollow sockets of his skull. The Queen watches him stumble through the snow, dragging his bum leg behind him since it refuses to bare any of his weight. She can see that he once would of been a handsome, worthy adversary, but now he is just a hollow shell of the man he had once been. The air is still, except for the occasional snowflake that floats down from the gray, gloomy winter's sky. The snowflakes settle onto her dark mane and cling to her veil of dark eyelashes. A smirk plays at her dark lips the longer she watches the man struggle through the snow.

She pushes herself through the fog, her hooves crunch through the thick crust of snow with each stride. She sidles up to him, pressing her roan hide into his gray side feeling his ribs press into her own. "You know its dangerous to wander these parts," she whispers into his ear, her breath hot on his scrawny neck. She lingers at his side for a second, letting the weight of her words crush down upon him. "What can I call you, my pet." she breathes.

A mischievous glint flickers in her crystal blue eye. She assumes that the fragile man would not last the swim to the Badlands, but it would be fun to toy with him while he still draws breath.