Rhaenys had spent most of her time originally keeping a distance from the herd. But as the time drew on she had grazed closer and closer until one day she was simply there. It was a combination of things, but it was mostly her children that had pushed her to be a better Queen than perhaps she had been originally. Her disinterest in the herd Evrain had built himself had been from a place of Rhaenys assuming she was better than everyone. Her loss of her title had been eye-opening, and when she had won it back something in her had changed. Perhaps it was going into labor still covered in blood from the fight or maybe it was the moment she looked upon Rhaena and decided she wanted the best for her children, even at the cost of her own pride. Rhaena had proved to be a kind child but became rebellious the older she got, and Rhaenys could see herself in those dark eyes each time she looked upon her daughter. After all it had been at that age that the Queen had met Evrain and decided what she was going to do with her life.

Drow was a different story. He was quiet and clung to his mother, something she had leaned into, doting on the young boy as best she could. When he was not with her, he was with his father or his sister. (At least she assumed he was with his sister, as Rhaenys would eventually learn to the contrary.) There was something different about him, but Rhaenys just wasn't quite sure what it was.

When Evrain turned to her, the Queen lifted her head, understanding his silent question. She turned to Drow, quietly standing at her hip and nudged him over to one of the mares. Rhaenys pinned her ears for a moment, a promise of violence should she return to a single hair out of place, the fire behind her eyes as visible as it was when she had taken the title of Queen for herself. Whatever calm she had found in her position was not to mistaken for weakness, and she would be sure to remind anyone of that.

She followed him quietly, falling comfortably into a rhythm at his side. When their partnership had begun Rhaenys had often pushed her luck, forging forward with her nose to attempt to lead. What had once been the folly of youth had fallen away as she matured, content to be equal with him. Though it was certainly clear from her mannerisms that any sort of disrespect would bring forth the dragon, however docile she might appear at this moment. The monster, the wolf, the creature, the dragon. None of them could be silenced in the Hound's blood. Once awoken it was a curse until your death and Rhaenys was no exception.

The dragon was there. It would always be there.

Evrain halted at their border to the Dunes and the Queen's face went rigid. Her lips pulled taut and her nostrils sucked in a sharp pull of air. Her ears laced themselves against her silvered mane as it swayed in the gentle wind. She knew Nyimara was no longer in the Dunes but it did not cause her any less grief to be staring at the place she grew up. It was not all bad of course, she had met Evrain when she had been in the Dunes. The surge of memories with her mother (both good and bad) caused a tremor of anger and sadness to run it's chilling hand along her spine and she planted her feet firmly. She remembered chasing her mother across the sands, rolling down the Dunes in a fit of giggles, and challenging lizards to the most terrifying of duels. "I-," she starts but quickly clears he throat, pointedly turning away. She reminds herself Nyimara is not here, even if the familiar scent of the territory threatens to overwhelm her senses.

She turns her head sharply the opposite way in an attempt to press her muzzle to Evrain's shoulder. Anything to ground herself against the warring in her mind, anything to prevent the fire from escaping at a time when it was not needed. Rhaenys would not cry, she told herself. She remains still a moment before turning back to the Dunes, the expression on her face returning to the powerful and enigmatic woman she knew herself to be. "I'm fine," she assures the king in a hushed tone, drawing her head up and back to appear taller. Her tail flicked idly against the backs of her legs.

The ever professional, Queen of the Hills, the Dragon of Salem.