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**Set right after the block of Tyr’s escape**

Her labor pains began to kick into overdrive within hours of securing the border from the Lagoon stallions. Frustration and anger fueled her motions as the rose-dappled woman fought through wave after wave of contractions until she could no longer ignore the pain. Deep down, she knew that she had no right to be angry that Khyber had not stuck around, to talk to her. Deep down, she knew that their views of life were far to different for them to ever be what one might consider a united front. She was attracted to his passion and his fury and anything less would be a disappointment.

Unlike her labor with Ryvar, this child is ready to make its entrance into the world and despite leaving the mountain woman breathless and coated in a thin sheen of sweat, the birth is over quickly. But even that does not quell her anger or the myriad of emotions that seeing Khyber and the Lagoon stallions so deep into the Peak territory brought to life.

Despite the desire to rush off, Khar’pern allows her son those vital nurturing hours together. Her touches are tender as she brushes her lips over his chocolate and white pelt. Silver ooids marvel at the flecks of white that disperse over his hips like frost covering the meadows on an early autumn morning. He was perfect. A fine boy that would one day grow into a striking stallion. Khroma she named him, As close a fit to perfect as her weary mind could settle on. Throughout the days and nights to come, the dappled woman settles into seclusion if only to assure herself that the boy’s legs are sturdy enough to manage the higher hillocks and graveled paths that lead into the upper meadows where the majority of the Peak mares spend their spring and summer grazing. Only when she is sure that Ryvar will look after him (and with Ashteroth nearby with her own child in case a need arises), Khar’pern set off with determined steps.

By the time she reaches the malleable earth and mire of the lagoon borders, Khar is a seething mass of emotions. He had raised such hell at her about learning the identity of their daughter but not once when faced against her (as formidable as she liked to think she was) did he bother to inquire about Ryvar. He did not linger, made no notion to acknowledge her presence and that… that had hurt her pride. She uses this to fuel her actions now when she seeks him out, letting the fury and anger recoil in each carefully honed strike and precise snake of her head. He is no foolish colt, no untrained youngster aiming for the most open target. Khyber had not become the general to the Lagoon by happenstance. The beast was lethal, a talent that she could appreciate even now. It takes all her strength and knowledge of the uneven landscape to give her the advantage she seeks and even then, there are moments when she doubts her ability. But it is more than her wounded pride that gives her the willpower and strength to force him deep into the Peak territory. Sweat drenches her coat, foam flecking the bloodied scrapes and jagged cuts that decorate her hips and shoulders. Breathlessly she eyes him, her finely chiseled head lowered and on guard, prepared to continue to block his attempt at freedom until she is finished. There is a reason why she went after her painted lover and it had very little to do with the passion that continued to bring them together again and again or the children that passion brought with it.

’..Do you know what you have done?..’ his voice is graveled and raspy but somehow even that has a way of quickening the already thundering of her heartbeat. Paper-thin nostrils quiver as she inhales deep breaths, her icy gaze remaining fixed on the tense cut of his figure as he snarls at her, accusing her of trying to appear as a hero to the rest of the Peak. The thought caused a smirk to lift the corners of her ashen lips as she scoffs openly at him. ”Is that…. what you… think?” she heaves, breathlessly dragging in deep gulps of the crisp mountain air. How those mutts managed to catch their breath amid the thick humidity of the swamp and muck of the lagoon she would never understand.

The seasoned mare does not miss the edge of panic in his hate-fueled eyes, nor does she doubt that the flash of doubt is missed as it crosses her own crystalline vision field. For a moment, brief and fleeting, Khar’pern wonders if this course of action was right. Had she just struck a match to the kindling bridge they continued to dance upon? Was this cause worth it? Of course, it was. That confirmation, more than any angry glare or flashing anxiety is enough to steel her mind to the rising tide of emotions that her heart tosses towards it.

Shaking her head, the desert-bred woman places the mask of pride firmly into place upon her delicate features. ”Told you I would make you MY trinket one day…” she purrs, her voice edged in the bravado that only the Peaks could bring to her. ”Let you see how it feels.” She finishes with a chuckle that somehow holds no amusement. For a moment longer she continues to study him, memorizing the curves and contours of his frame and painting the image in her mind of the pattern on his red and white coat. This might very well be the last time they stand on relatively solid ground together.

Exhaling a deep breath she cocks a hind hoof, tilting her dished facade to fix him with an even glare. ”If you are finished with your pity party….” she begins, pausing a moment to let the cocky smirk that usually lingers on his lips settle into place on her own velvet labrums. ”I brought you here to discuss some things… uninterrupted.” she emphasizes, stomping a single cracked hoof. This was the only way. That was her mantra now as she stepped forward, maintaining eye contact long enough to brush past him with the faintest whisper of their sweat-sleek bodies touching. She continues past him, pausing a few strides ahead to crane her neck around and fix him with an expectant brow raised. Waiting. Two birds, one stone.

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