khar'pern

The mare of smoke and rosy predawn slides from the shadows of the dense forest, her gaze once more resting on the high, snow capped peaks of the mountains that the mare called home. Though her soul felt revived to be so near the high peaks and granite overhangs of rock, her heart weighed heavily within her breast. She had broken her promise. The promise she made when Roisin cast a vote in her favor for prime minister had been in hopes of change. She promised to fight for the mares, to bring about equality and cow the bachelor stallions and any that opposed them into submission. So far, the only thing she had managed to do was lose a battle to the damned lagoon. There had been no powerful return to glory, no rising in their numbers or hours spent teaching the younger generations how to fight and defend themselves. Nothing. Her few days spent investigating the island herds had turned into months and aside from a general idea of the ongoings around the islands, she was still none the wiser on how to proceed.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she draws to a halt and gazes across the jagged slope to where the spares few grazed in peaceful silence. ’Mother!’ a graying smoky yearling nickers energetically and the optimism she felt begins to recede. A warm smile tugs at the corners of her dark muzzle as her crystalline gaze watches him close the gap between them. ”Diccon…” she murmurs, extending her muzzle to nuzzle his whiskered lips affectionately. ”It is good to see you my son. You look well.” she finishes, lifting her head to allow her gaze to travel the growing colt proudly. For a few moments, she allows herself to exchange a few pleasantries with the boy before excusing herself to investigate into the welfare of what remained of the Peak herd.

In her absence, the herd seemed to have dwindled even more than what she remembered. Clarity was easy to recognize with her striking black and white pattern but few others could be seen. The weight on her breast continues to weigh down upon her heavily. Her fault. If she had only done things differently. :::but there is still time…::: the voice of the winds whisper across the rocky peaks, tickling the fine hairs on the inside of her ears. The voice breathes warmth into her chilled heart and thaws the frost of doubt that shadows her mind. There was still time for her to bring about some change, still time to remind the islands and the stallions that inhabit them that mares were not weak, spineless creatures in need of protection.

As if reassured by the mountain’s whispered voice, the stormcloud mare lifts her head proudly and releases her call, announcing her return to the peaks of the islands.