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.
send me reeling [birth/open]
Posted on May 17, 2020 at 03:42:12 AM by Rhadra

She is perfect.

Rhadra whickers low to her daughter as she sleeps between feeds and lips once again at her small ears, marveling. Her coat is a rich, deep bay and impossibly soft. All four tiny feet are pale and socked just like her own feathered legs, but the filly has her father’s face: a bold blaze runs from her lips up to her forehead where eventually her black forelock will grow long to obscure part of it.

The mare’s language has evolved overnight to the softest of sounds. Through these nonverbal expressions Rhadra murmurs her love for her newborn almost constantly. Dawn has come and gone unnoticed. Now the sun shines warm and bright on the new mother and child who recline among wildflowers in a field cupped high in the mountains. Labor had been arduous, far more difficult than Rhadra remembers any of the broodmares back home ever describing it, and though her black coat is still patched heavily with sweat from the ordeal and her limbs tremble every time she hauls herself to her feet to allow her daughter to feed, Rhadra is radiantly happy.

“Oh, my love, you are perfect,” she whispers as she traces lines down her daughter’s small neck and small back to the base of her tiny tail in too short a time. She is so small! Rhadra can’t recall any foal ever being this little— but then, her eyes had glassed over and slid away from the children suckling at the teats of others, ashamed and despairing over her own failure and trying not to look too hard at what she thought she would never have.

It seems like such a faraway time, herself only a season before so young and silly to have believed so fervently that she was incapable of bearing a child. What nonsense. With proof this beautiful she forgets she ever carried doubt. What glorious life, she thinks absently as she croons to her sleeping child, curling her dark neck over her newborn filly in a loving embrace.

rhadra



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