Annoyed. Everything as of late annoys the dappled mare. Khar’pern is careful to dull the blade of her tongue around Ryvar but as the days windle down in her pregnancy, the rose-colored mare finds herself isolating farther and farther from the guarded eyes of her daughter and the other sisters of the Peak. Her opposition to Marceline’s involvement in the Lagoon affairs has managed to burrow deep into their minds. A small sliver of her had hoped that Ashteroth and maybe even some of the younger mares would see the wisdom in her advice that Marceline step down. The descent into bickering had apparently had the opposite effect. The whole damn point seemed to have fallen by the wayside when Ashteroth made her exit and so far, she had not found the words that seemed adequate enough to smooth the tarnished ground between herself and her once-apprentice. Time… she tells herself. Give her…them time… It would take a while for the soured tempers to dissolve.

So as she had done with many of her days in the last few months, Khar’pern continues to patrol the borders of the Peak that are not protected by the sheer cliffsides and tumultuous waters of the ocean. The last few days have seen her seeking shelter in the lower hillocks and dense conifer forests that make up the Peak. The pendulum swing of her swollen belly has finally taken the turn from nuisance to downright annoying. Raven-tipped ears lay backward as, for what felt like the hundredth time today alone, the child within her belly let out a round of kicks and shoves to her ribcage. As if she needed yet another reminder that it was growing out of room inside her womb. It would not be long now. ”Soon…” she murmurs, more to herself than the child squirming inside her. Soon there would be yet another set of dark eyes to stare up at her and flood her with the warm glow of motherhood.

Unbidden, the memory of Khyber’s handsome face awakens inside her mind and despite herself, the exotic woman feels her body heating at the myriad of emotions that ride those waves. A hard snort escapes her flared nostrils as the phoenix gives her sleek serpentine a rough shake. The long, wind-knotted tangles of her obsidian mane snap audibly against her throat, forcing the memory away. He was in the Lagoon. The LAGOON. A mutt with no morals and even less conscience. It should not matter how handsome he looked with his wild mane framing the muscular curve of his throat or how alive she felt at the gentle and harshness of his touch. She should forget the thrill she felt, trading blows, both proverbial and literally, with the skilled Maurader. He condoned the keeping of trinkets, a fate worse than the captivity a random few had been labeled here in the Peaks. Trinkets had no voice, they had no life. They were meant to warm the beds of those swamp dogs and spit out babies. THAT had been the impression that she was given over and over again. Even now she remembers the terror that had been in the eyes of more than a few mares that were lucky to escape here before their absence was noticed. As much as she hated to admit it, and by the gods she did, deep down, her heart knew as much as her mind…. They were too different for anything to ever truly manifest between them.

But as she makes her way down a narrow trail, it is that very scent that has her heartbeat quickening for an entirely different reason…..

Khyber is here.

Regardless of her impending birth, and definitely at the protests of the child within her, the dappled mare lurched into a quicker pace. Blunt teeth grind together behind her closed lips as she follows the trail of his scent further and further into the depths of the Peaks. The initial anxiety that she felt over the possibility he had fallen captive to one of the other sisters heightens at the muffled voices that her keen ears catch. Paper-thin nostrils flare as she exhales a hard breath in warning, small flutes disappearing beneath the wind-swept tangle of her raven mane. A flash of possessiveness ignites at the thought of anyone else being able to claim him as theirs. Even if she had no rights, and by the gods did she have to remind herself again and again that this was true, the idea that any other mare might think that… might cover the bites and scrapes and bruises she left him, with fresh ones of their own… it is almost enough to make her lose focus on the real issue at hand.

When the pregnant mare does finally burst onto the scene in a breathless huff, she is almost grateful that the early pangs of labor make her halt to catch her breath and assess the scene unfolding before her.

Immediately her gaze finds Khyber, her silver eyes raking over his muscular form with appreciation before traveling to his dark eyes and that confident smirk she knows too well. A cocky smile ghosts across her ashen lips as her gaze darts to the other three faces. The chimera stallion at her sister’s side seems lost in a world of his own. Too many times she has seen the face of grief and the sobering silence that accompanies it. What does surprise her, however, is that it is not her sister that Khyber and the old palomino stud are after.

With a scoff of amusement, Khar’pern steps forward, closing the distance between herself and the small gathering. Instinctively her gaze finds Khybers. The most viable threat to anyone with half a brain cell. ”Little far from the Lagoon aren’t you?..... Khyber?” she curses herself for how easily his name slides off her tongue, even if she is careful to let it ring with venom. Small raven-tipped lobes disappear beneath the curling tendrils of her obsidian mane as the pregnant mare comes to a halt beside Bubbles, not quite sure she wants anywhere near the grieving stallion just yet. A mischievous smirk tugs at a corner of her lips as she cocks her finely dished head slightly, ”You that desperate to be MY trinket this time?” she challenges, doing her best to hide the joy she feels at the very sight of him.