mazikeen

azikeen paces along the southern shore of the Dunes, agitation scrawled across her face and imbued in each heavy step she takes. It has been a handful of weeks since Akkadian was sent away, but no amount of time will abate the red hot rage that boils beneath her skin whenever her eyes wander towards Helios.

In Mazikeen's twisted mind, he had traded their son off like chattel, treated him as little more than a pawn, a means to an unsatisfying end. Yet it hadn't been the end - her son had not been enough to sate the black beast's greed, and he had returned shortly after to claim Mhidas for himself as well. Two sons gone because their father was not enough of a stallion to stand up for them. To simply say no, and chase the brute away to whatever fetid place he had likely crawled from.

Where once Mazikeen had found Helios and his simplistic life in the Dunes charming, she feels only disgust now whenever she looks at him. He'd allowed himself to be bullied into giving their son - her son - away like some pet. She could not bring herself to see past what she considered to be failures, and as such had begun to distance herself from him since Akkadian's departure.

And though she had done her best to raise Akkadian well, to teach him to draw on his own strengths and find advantage in every situation, she would be a liar if she said she did not worry for him in some small way. He was clever and ambitious and strong, but even the most intelligent of horses could find themselves in a spot of trouble now and again. Mazikeen had no doubt that he would find a way to thrive in his new home, but the thought of being so many miles away, of being unable to aid him should he ever need it, ate away at the spotted mare.

An annoyed huff passes from Mazikeen's paper-thin nostrils at the thought. She stops her relentless pacing to kick at the fine golden sand beneath her hooves, her frustration stoked by her inability to release her anger where she truly wanted: upon Helios' pretty flesh, on the stallion who had taken Akkadian, and on herself, for not intervening when she still had the chance.