The pale eyed mare trudges aimlessly down the well-worn path that lad towards the high reaching peaks. Droplets of ocean water still cling to ends of her damp mane, making it appear lifeless and heavy along the curve of her dappled serpentine. Even the welcoming sight of the snowcapped peaks is not enough to sway the guilt hanging heavily over her. She had left. Once more, the jungles of her home had come calling and like a summer songbird, she had run without a second thought. Of course, she felt sure that Ysabel would see to the Peaks safety until her return but still, she was their leader and they deserved better than a girl still eager to gain her mother’s approval.

Not much had changed since she returned. The ever-vigilant general had informed her of an alliance of sorts that had come from the Island of Salem and that more strangers seeking asylum would be joining their ranks for guidance. She had merely nodded her head in silent agreement and taken to patrolling the borders to greet these said strangers. Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed the bay and white girl. Almost.

The sound of her voice is hopeful, but not filled with the same hopefulness of one familiar to the peaks and the security they sought to provide. Small fluted ears lift, rotating atop her skullcap as kean silver eyes scan the shrubs and sparse thickets that dotted the lower hills. Pale eyes fall on the unfamiliar face and she too lifts her own finely dished muzzle to offer a friendly, albeit graveled greeting. Inhaling a deep breath, the rose-hued mare shifts her aimless wandering. Lithe limbs lift themselves with renewed purpose as she closes the distance between herself and the stranger.

Even from afar, the woman of bloodred hues and wind tossled mane screamed of the desert sands. A kinship to her own bloodlines that had long since been lost beneath the dark jungles of the mainlands beyond the ocean’s grasp. A warm smile manifests itself across her whiskered lips as Khar slows to a halt with a dip of her proud head. ”Greetings” The word comes naturally to her lips as she stares into the distant dunes behind the blueness of the girl’s eyes. ”My name is Khar’pern, Prime Minister of the Peaks.” she breathes, arching her long neck forward in offered friendship. A single ear swivels amid the damp coils of her dark mane, ”You seem to have a purpose that most strangers lack. I can assume you are here of your own free will?” The last word lingers on her lilted tongue, a single brow raised in curiosity. Though she had no doubt in her General’s ability to make decisions that would benefit the Peak herd, stallions were another animal altogther. Like a snake slithering among the rocks, she held their presence with guarded eyes and their words with wary acknowledgment. Just because a stallion proclaimed to be sending members to train did not always mean they were willing and by the gods Khar would never see another mare suffer and do nothing. Never again.