The little touch that Sidra offered him once she was at his side helped to soothe the anxiety that had twisted like knotted snakes in his belly since she had left. But, despite how badly he wanted to give her his full attention, he could not. Black rimmed ears tipped forward; he listened as Zevulun offered his gratitude which earned a small nod from Bacardi. It had taken a great deal of effort from the nearly white stallion to come here just to thank him. Both physically, and probably mentally, given how their last conversation had gone.


Although Bacardi had thought that was all Zevulun had wanted, he was given another surprise. The mention of war always held a sharp ring to it. The loss of his mother to the last war always on edge of his mind. Every muscle in Bacardi tightened, the muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth for a moment, before letting out a breath as he tried to let it go. Whispers and rumors were not an actual war, but Bacardi didn’t like it all the same. He had known he had been wrapped up in the contentment of his home for too long. This only solidified it.


“I have been meaning to meet with the other leaders, to see how we all stand, but time has simply gotten away from me.” Bacardi replied. For one reason or another, he always seemed to have an excuse not to leave that day. The time spent with his foals, a family member, the season. No more; it was time to start acting like an actual leader, and not a second like he had been in the Bay. “I would like for Luthien to be Oligarchy…. If you agree?” The olive branch Zevulun had figuratively handed Bacardi was met in kind, as he asked the pale stallion’s opinion and hopefully his support. Otherwise, Bacardi was afraid that to keep them all united, he might have to force a Autocracy.

mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of the forest.

"...speech"