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Wasp took her time, which Nekharat understood and bore her no ill will for. After all, keeping charge of all of these souls was work, especially the stallions who all seemed to guffaw here and there, indignant in their captivity. As she approached, she dipped her head, paying her respectful dues to the lead mare.

“Wasp, thank you for coming to me,” she began. “I know the Peak has been through a lot, and I recognize I have come at a time of rebuilding.”

Nekharat paused, considering her next words carefully.

“Given the fact that I was not among you all during this turmoil, I seek your counsel so that I might understand what I must know to encourage new growth; plant seeds that may sprout from the ashen soil at our hooves.”

She assumed that Wasp’s actions toward Solomon were likely a result of something he had done. She knew of Cullen’s crimes, and that her mother Macabre had died in the war he had started, but who among the herds were allies and had sided with the war-mongering stallion?

Nekharat did not enjoy being ignorant, and she was desperate for purpose—for a community that she could aid. It frustrated her that her lack of involvement in the war had disadvantaged her in this respect.

“I wish to help in any way I can,” she added, looking upon the Prime Minister with reverence.

NEKHARAT