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Nekharat listened carefully to Wasp, her eyes searching the mare for a deeper script between the lines of her dialogue. She was not necessarily suspicious of her intentions, but something about her phrasing radiated a level of distrust toward her. The red mare only nodded her head in agreement, sensing she about had enough of her grandstanding.

“It does,” she answered simply with a flick of her tail as she turned.

She had hoped that in time, she would find something like companionship with this group of mares, but this conversation with the leader did not feel the way she expected. Truthfully, Nekharat didn’t know what to expect from any of this—she only knew that if the mares of the Peak identified as a collective, a sisterhood as Wasp had put it, she didn’t feel entirely like she belonged as part of it. Sisters lifted each other up in the face of adversity, supported one another when there was uncertainty—at least, this was her idea of what it should be.

Perhaps it was too soon for her to be feeling this way, but Nekharat’s independence and the great amount of time she had spent alone as a young filly ruled her mind. She could not embrace being part of a collective—any collective, apparently—the way she had expected. She might reside here upon the Peak, but would she ever truly be a Vulcan?

“I appreciate your time Wasp, and your patience,” she finished, politely acknowledging the Prime Minister before leaving her be so long as there was nothing left to be said.

NEKHARAT