Desert

Titania finds a small pond in short order. The Desert is full of them, little wells of pure, cool liquid pooling in the dips between the dunes and at the bottom of red-dirt hills, willed into fleeting existence by Springtime rain. She savors the taste, so clean and fresh it reminds her of the wellsprings on other, greener Islands. They won't last long - Summer reigns on Salem, stealing time from its neighbors Spring and Autumn alike, and poaches every drop of water that it can to try and quench its scorching thirst. She must treasure this bounty now, commit its sweetness to her memory, so that when it has left her in body, she may carry it in spirit, and let its kindness guide her through her home's most punishing months.

The dark mare has just finished another long drink when she hears the sound of hoofbeats. Raising her head, she turns, expecting one of her youngest children - Lysander and Asyna, twins and the last of Rougaru's progeny to hit the ground - come to visit. They know not to disturb her when she dances with Death in the moonlight, know there are places only she can go, places they cannot follow for fear of looking the monster that created them in his bony-white face and seeing the horrors he had wrought upon these Islands laid bare. They know of him; they do not know him, and for this, Titania is grateful. She yearns for the nights when she'd held her children by her side, when they took comfort in the warmth of each other's bodies and felt the soft rise and fall of their breaths, but they are safe, they are innocent - and most importantly, they are free.

Instead of them, though, stands a mare, her coat as stony as her expression. The Desert Queen mirrors it, her lips drawn together in a long line, and her ears perk forward only to catch the stranger's question. She raises her chin, quiet for a long moment as she considers, her long tail swishing against her hindquarters.

"Is anyone ever really gone?" she says, her words skirting deftly around the truth. It's only partly persiflage, her answer: though the Wolf-King may not be here physically, his legacy carries on. He lives in the shadows cast by his many children, in the memories of his conquests, in the scars along her nightwashed back. In the reputation his name still holds, ringing across the five isles and beyond, beckoning unknown entities to her doorstep.

Speaking of...

Titania fixes the grey mare with a shrewd look, taking her in fully. She smells enough of Salem, but does not seem truly part of it like the glossy, long-limbed creatures who flock to these harsh climates. She is... other, somehow, set apart from this barren place, much like Titania herself had been, or perhaps still was.

"Who wants to know?" she asks, and waits expectantly for her answer, her dominion of this place - and not her belonging - granting her the right to do so.