She had kept her title in the Peak, but just barely. Though she had made her fair share of friends among the other mares that called the mountain range their home, there were others still who questioned her dedication. The spotted mare Marceline had been the most outspoken of the ones to question her. The strength in the words she had haughtily spoken the day Khar returned with Cullen were not easy for the moonshadow mare to forget. ’I wont sit idly by…’ the weight of those words had dug deep into her core and though she kept herself silent, if only for diplomatic purposes, Khar’pern had felt the tension rise beneath her skin, wanting nothing more than to toss her own daggered response to the mare’s accusations. Regardless of what excuses she told herself, the fact of the matter was that Marceline was right. The Peaks, regardless of how majestic and awe inspiring they were to her, had lost their luster among the islands and the other herds that called them home. The fierce numbers that had once served so diligently beneath Wasp and her dam before her had dwindled in the mists until only remnants of the once great warrior’s remained. It was those remnants that Khar clung most desperately to.

Yet regardless of how she looked at it, one thing remained the same, they had a need for strong leaders who were willing to not only put forth effort into reviving the old regime, but leaders who would incite caution in the eyes of herd stallions. The pale demon’s casual demeanor and careless disregard for the protection the Peaks offered is proof enough to her that whatever her personal beliefs or opinions, she needed to put them aside. ’For the Peaks… for mother mountain… for the herd.’ the words repeat themselves in soft whispers as she descends the high reaches. Most predawn hours found her high among the craggy cliffsides, seeking knowledge and wisdom from the whispers that could be found in the mountain zephyrs. This morning had been no different and yet despite her reserve on the decision, the resolve was still the same. Call for her. Marceline might not have won the votes in this election for leadership, but that did not mean the mare did not deserve a place on the council.

Stifling a groan, (for she doubt’s the mare will be much pleased to converse with her alone) Khar’pern lifts her voice to call for the once-queen. Pale, silver eyes blink against the rays of sunlight as they bleed over the distant ridge, driving away the shadows of evening for another day. The red faced queen is easy to spot among the dark and pale forms that gathered loosely on the grazing meadows still damp with dew. Raven tipped ears tilt forward as the Minister waits patiently for Marceline to respond.