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Khar’pern studies the small group that has gathered around their returning minister. Like a hunting mountain cat, she is silent and listens as questions arise. Questions that would demand an answer that even she is not sure her years in a mare-governed land could provide. Marceline may have once been a queen in her own rights, but this…. Who THEY were… it is not something she expects the red woman to have an answer for.

As Ashteroth appears, a sense of relief rebuilds itself within the rose-hued mare. Her glacial gaze does not miss the backward tip of her ears nor the firm glare that is sent to Serenity. At least she was not alone in her distaste for the repercussions of the fame that was no doubt spreading as quickly as a bird’s wings throughout the islands. Soon, even the most solitary of herds would know that the Prime Minister of the Peaks had murdered the Lagoon General in cold blood. It was no doubt the web of lies that the bachelors would weave. For once, it made them look like victims.

Silently she listens as Ashteroth picks up her train of thought and inquires a similar concern. Ash-dusted lips press firmly together to keep her voice strangled as she listens to the seal-brown woman speak, the only sign of her disapproval in the twitch of a single fluted lobe. Whoever she was, she was not wrong. The swamp mutts HAD bolstered their numbers through a number of different methods and number one among them was forcing herd stallions to send their boys to learn their ways. It was not really a bad plan if she were being completely honest, but they did so through threat and fear… and that was something she could NOT get behind. The herds should WANT to send their daughters to learn what it is like to be a peak mare. It should be an honor that is boasted proudly amongst the herds that one of their own had been offered and chosen. At least, that was how her world had once been. The islands… the islands were different, a fact that had brought her back time and time again. Vaguely she remembered the times of Wasp and stories she had told of elders even greater than herself. Vividly she remembers the pride in the old mare’s voice when she spoke of how these high meadows and peaks had once housed large numbers of diplomats and warriors alike. They had once been spoken of in reverent tones, honored guests, and sole defenders against the devious actions of the brotherhood that haunted the lagoon. Look at them now.

Her attention returns to the present now as Marceline speaks up, her voice authoritative and clear to all who have gathered near enough to hear. ’The lagoon will never believe their general's death was anything but intentional….’ A truth that even Khar’pern cannot argue against. Garmr had won his place by being cunning, that much she had managed to overhear among the hushed conversations in the lagoon. He was conniving and devious enough to use this to his advantage. Of that she is sure. However as Marceline explains what she perceives to be strength in letting the rumor spread like the open carcass in the sun, Khar’pern sees it for the festering wound it will become.

She continues to listen silently as Marceline speaks with authority, glancing from one face to another for confirmation as she implores them each to venture to the different islands in search of daughters that herd stallions might be willing to part with. Biles rises in her throat at the thought that they would be doing not so much differently than the lagoon beasts. The moment her gaze fixes on Khar’s, she would find no such agreement. Instead, behind the startling silver-gray eyes of the Arab mare, is strength and hardened conviction.

Ashen labrums peel back as a snarl works its way across her exotic features. ”You would have us become no better than those…. savages?!” she asks her voice rising with her anger. Raven-tipped ears pin tightly to her skullcap as she takes a step forward, forcing Marceline to meet her accusing eyes. ”You could have waited…” The words are almost a whisper between them, just bared audible over the billowing breeze. Her brows furrow as paper-thin nostrils flare and she lifts her chin proudly. ”Your actions were for selfish reasons… you did this… brought THIS…” she says, thrusting her muzzle back towards the lagoon before glaring once again at Marceline, ”On us because of your own pride and need for glory.”

With these words she pauses, lets the weight of her accusation settle between the no doubt stunned sisters before she continues with more leveled tones. ”I am a warrior just as you. I can handle the cards dealt to me whether good or bad. No warrior has ever gone through life without being captive at some point. It is something I was prepared for the moment my name was called forth…” she says. And it is true. As unpleasant as the fact is, Khar’s bloodline, her lineage is of strong-willed mares trained to endure even the most vicious of assaults. As much as she detested the lagoon stallions, her experience had not been entirely unpleasant or useless. Even as a captive, she had learned quite a deal through keeping her head down and her ears open. Khyber’s ‘claim’ of her had awarded her a sense of security that she doubted very many other “trinkets” were awarded. But that ball of knotted emotions was a tangle she would hide away to deal with on another day. It did nothing to the outcome she sought now.

”If you were so concerned for me, you could have offered yourself in exchange but you did not. You waited… you stayed silent as I was forced into captivity. You only came for me when it suited you, an action that was not necessary. I had just about secured my own freedom when you appeared.” she continues, pausing again for the weight of that confession to hang in the crisp mountain air. ”I was almost free when you came.” She says it again just in case the words had been missed. Gaze narrows as she continues on. ”Instead of being the leader you swore to be, you rushed in, hot-headed and ready to fight. Instead of trying to be the diplomat someone who had once been queen should know to be; you attacked and the mutt was killed…. Accident though it may have been it was still unnecessary. But now you want us to continue the lie?! To feed a rotting carcass and hope it doesn't stink?! You want US to scour the islands, to all but threaten leaders with pretty words on the necessity of sending their daughters to help fight a war that YOU have started?” Again the anger rises with the octave of her tone as she stomps a single forelimb onto the granite rock beneath her hooves. ”No…. No Marceline. I will NOT stand behind this decision.” she proclaims loud enough for the rest gathered to hear. ”I will not let you take the Peak mares down with you and force the rest of the islands into compliance. Perhaps that more than anything is why you are an EX-queen.” It was a low blow and one that she is unsure of but if it hit true then it was yet another uncovered truth. ”You should step down as Prime Minister. Allow another as default to step into your place. This would give me or our Codebreaker…” she says pausing to offer Ashteroth a reaffirming glance before returning her attention to the red mare, ”...a chance to smooth things over with the swamp mutts until we can raise our ranks from the ashes. Perhaps knowledge that you have been impeached for your actions will be enough to soothe their ego enough to prevent this war from even beginning.” she finishes with a firm nod of her head, casting a searching gaze through the throng of sisters, praying that they might see the wisdom in her frustrated words. The last thing she needed right now was to see that handsome red and white face across from her when the battle lines were drawn. For all the venom and fury in her veins, Khar’pern the huntress truly fears seeing that future come to life because she is not sure her heart could survive it.

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