Autumn had turned to winter, but under the arid Salem sun Marceline was none the wiser. The only reminder she had of winter's progression was the swelling of her belly as her the child grew inside it. The child she never wanted or intended to have, but ended up stuck with anyway. She'd traded a moment's pleasure for a lifetime of burdensome responsibility, and it had it been worth it? Hardly. She'd gained nothing of value from her little liaison with Fiero, while he walked away with a smile. And ― if he desired ― another child to use as a pawn for whatever political affairs might suit his whims.

And though the speckled mare wasn't sure he was the type to trade his family away like trinkets, the mere possibility still frustrated her. And why? Why be angry over a child she claimed to not give a damn about? There was no apple of her eye, no overwhelming maternal love felt for this little parasite in her womb. Yet the thought of it being treated as chattel agitated her to no end, her frustration a constant abrasive edge against the corner of her mind. She cannot rid herself of it despite her best attempts.

Perhaps, somewhere within the stony chambers of her heart, she was simply afraid. Afraid of her only living family being treated the same way she had been as a small and helpless child. Unable to have a voice for themselves, destined to always have others speaking for them.

A growl of frustration ripped its way from her throat as the rotund mare paced the edges of the Dunes, contemplating another swim to the Crossing. It was there she first saw him metamorphosing from the sea, dwarfed by the mighty banks that lorded over a shore void of any pebbles of plants. The sandy hills rose to a crest along the border where earth met water before slanting sharply down and yielding to the sapphire seas. Those same waters beckoned her away from the desert and towards more promising horizons. The bones of Salem were dry, picked clean by kings past and present. They had little to offer the hungry mare. No way to sate her appetite for influence and attention.

But who was to say she couldn't ― wouldn't ― change that? She may hold no official title or have any sort of power over this forsaken desert, but neither of those things were needed for what she had in mind. As the bay stood at the shore, water licking his heels, she saw both a man and the opportunity he represented. A shrill, silvery call carried over the tepid wind as she skirted her way down the dunes and towards his hovering figure. The smile that curled the freckled edges of her lips was sweet, but held a predatory edge.

"If you're looking for trouble, you've come to the wrong place. But if you've come to make it, you might be in luck."