The relief Khar’pern felt the moment Marceline appeared is indescribable. In truth, the rose-dappled mare had fully come to believe that she would have to find her own means of escape. Khyber was her weakness, despite the fury and venom that she spat at him, Khar could not quite bring herself to harm him, not in any real manner anyway. The idea of having to see defeat or hurt in his eyes should she manage to get the best of him in battle is…. Well, it is the reason she still remained even when he left the lagoon to ‘patrol the islands’ as he had described it.

Truthfully, escaping while Khyber was gone had not even crossed her mind, not until Marceline appeared. It is as if she is awakened from a fog, the haze banished by the bright warmth of the sun that is the peak Minister. No longer does she think of Khyber, no longer does he hold sway over her actions or lack thereof. Suddenly, the realization that she herself is a warrior returns to her thoughts, and the need to feel the mountain air in her lungs surfaces like a long-dormant dream.

Tension lingers beneath her skin as the rose-gray mare follows each move and action of the dueling horses. Each scrape of teeth and thud of hooves that hit Marceline dug a deeper trench into her soul and darkened her eyes. Marceline should not have to do this for her. Khar’pern herself had been the Prime Minister of the peak only a year before… she should have been able to free herself from the clutches of these beasts instead of allowing the noose to tighten and the collar to rub raw against her skin. She should have remembered who she was, not needed the reminder of a sister coming to her rescue. Not just any sister, but Marceline.

Marceline. The once queen of some distant Salem herd. Her constant competition for the position that the spotted mare now held. Marceline, her biggest rival and closest ally. Each hit that found a mark on the spotted mare’s body dug deeper into the debit she felt for the red woman. She would owe the Minister, whether she wanted to or not.

The sickening crunch of bone jars her from her thoughts. Silencing any voices so that it seemed even the entire Lagoon and its inhabitants all stilled as the stallion fell lifelessly to the earth. For a moment, shock flashes in her silver eyes, the same expression that danced across Marceline’s face. Had that just happened? How? It was an attack not unlike the same the stallion himself had parried to the Peak mare. An attack that even the most untrained warrior would have known to dodge and yet he had almost turned into the thrust of the mare’s hooves. Slowly, cautiously, Khar’pern approaches the shocked Minister, sharing a moment of silence between themselves as the moment registers. She was free. Like the proverbial gate had been left open, Khar’pern was free… but it would not remain this way for long. Without a second thought she sheds the yoke of her oppressor. She does not look back for Khyber. Freedom spanned before her.

Without a word between them, the rose-dappled mare launches herself away from the roaring chatter and distant stallions screaming their defiance. Sensitive ears rotate backward, protecting her hearing from the sound of wind whipping through her mane. The blood of the desert dancers and years of life in the high mountain reaches have taught her how to run without tiring and by the gods she uses that to its extent now. Only when the pair have safely crossed the main island and returned to the protective embrace of the mother mountain does Khar allow her gait to slow and finally halt completely.

Breathing heavily, the sweat-dampened mare watches silently as Marceline paces ahead towards the loosely gathered mountain herd. She follows, more out of respect and allegiance than anything else. Marceline had earned that much.

When Marceline addresses the herd, Khar’pern remains silent behind her, listening and looking out over the gathering faces, registering the emotions that crossed them each. The general…. Well, that was just great, even if she wanted to go up against Marceline in the next elections, she could not add something like managing to kill the Lagoon general to her resume. It had been a fluke accident, something that she and Marceline both knew; but that did not mean the rest of the Peak mares would believe it. Not with Marceline crowing her victory now.

Khar resists the urge to roll her eyes dramatically as the Minister ends her speech with a firm nod. The red mare was milking her victory but who could blame her? Could Khar’pern honestly say she would not be doing the same thing if she were in Marceline’s hooves? No. Not if she were honest.

When the General steps forward with her own bit of ‘good riddance’, the rosy mare does display her first hints of annoyance. Raven-tipped ears tilt backward as an exasperated snort exhales from her lips. This time, she does not resist the roll of her eyes as her lips set into a grim expression. Confidently, the lithe mare steps forward, thrusting her head forward as she throws herself into the conversation. ”And what pray tell, are WE getting ready for?” she asks, glaring at Serenity briefly before turning her icy gaze to Marceline. ”What have we accomplished besides giving those mutts a reason to come sniffing around?” she snaps, pausing a moment before dropping her gaze, blinking slowly before continuing, her voice far less frigid. ”There are more of them than our own numbers. Like ants emerging from a toppled hill, they will come for us…. And fierce as we are, we cannot win without help.” she muses, glancing up at Marceline once more. ”We need to even the odds before they DO come.” It is a problem she knows that Marceline is familiar with, a problem that SHE had faced as the Prime Minister. An unspoken problem that refused to be acknowledged but now, now it must be. If they had any hopes of keeping the wolves at bay, they would need to bolster their numbers. One way or another.