Khar’pern moves with fluid ease through the dense forests that bordered the lower verge of the Peaks. The sudden rainstorm that had fallen upon the island plastered her obsidian mane against the curve of her neck and despite the sheltered umbrella that the leaves of the deciduous trees offered, the rose-gray mare was still thoroughly soaked. Only managing to add to the current agitations that plagued her mind. The troubles in the lagoon as of late were concerning and more than anything, that plain of thought alone drove her to leave Tessaia in the care of her elder brother and the rest of the peak mares while Khar sought her own thoughts on the matter without interruption.
The Lagoon has always plagued the Peak mares, as though the very thought of mares refusing to live beneath a stallion’s thumb was something that they could not possibly tolerate even in existence. Likewise, Khar (and Marceline it seems) found equal pleasure and encouragement in the abilities to beat them back and even return with captives of their own in tow. She hoped that continuing to beat them back would end their plague upon the world. However, like ants, they seemed to manage to multiply and continue to build themselves from within. Such was the continual battle.
Sunlight flickers through the trees ahead and the slender woman pauses, blinking away her thoughts. Her wandering steps had brought her through the forest and into the meadows below the peaks almost without her knowing. She had merely been lost in her thoughts and let her sure feet do the guiding.
Crystalline droplets of water glistened from the low-hanging leaves as the rose-gray mare brushed beneath the last of the canopy and found herself in the open field of grasses still green with summer growth. Here and there, a myriad of horses dotted the rain-flattened grasses, equally as soaked as herself. However, one form in particular catches her attention and holds it.
Suspicion fills her silver eyes as raven-tipped ears rotate backward in distrust. While she did not personally know the stallion beyond his self-proclaimed title, she did recognize the odd blaze on his russet face and the startling contrast of her blue-green eyes. Nahawi. The lagoon boss.
”Little far from your home now aren’t you, Nahawi?” the mountain mare asks, adjusting her path to approach the beast directly. There was no way she would ever give those stallions the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid of them. Never. A single flute tilts forward as she lets her gaze momentarily travel over his rugged, battered figure, a haughty huff blasting from her nostrils as her gaze lingers for a moment on a particularly nasty-looking cut. ”That looks infected.” she remarks dryly, turning her searching gaze once more to his blue-green eyes.
Khar'pern
The jungle is dark but full of diamonds;