Common

From the inky black of the trees, a stallion emerged, his coat the color of bleached bone and his movements ethereal. Moonlight bathed him, turning him into a stark, silver statue against the night. The mare, Vesna, fixed him with her one good eye, her dark mane bristling as her ears flattened against her head. Every muscle in her powerful frame was braced for flight, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs, her senses overwhelmed. Doubt clouded her brow – run, or parley?

The silence shattered as the stallion spoke, his words self-deprecating but laced with a promise of things to come. A flicker of amusement touched Vesna's muzzle. She was Isles-born and bred, and had seen every type. The power-hungry, consumed by their own desires. The complacent, content to graze on Sandy Shores, their worries as shallow as their watering holes.

"So, ambition is what drives you?" she breathed, her voice barely audible. Overriding the instinct to flee, she dared to close the distance, tilting her face to study the stallion's handsome features with her singular gaze. A knowing smirk played on her lips. She’d always been drawn to ambition, its fiery breath igniting something within her own spirit. But Vesna had no intention of being anyone's pawn.

She was the queen.

Now, just a hair's breadth separated them, close enough for her whiskers to brush his shoulder as she playfully nipped at his fur. Excitement surged through her. "Ambition is exactly what you'll find here," she purred, her voice silken. "You could easily use the lost souls drifting through the Commons to build your power." She paused, tilting her head, her dark eye gleaming in the moonlight.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

Vesna knew this game was perilous, but danger was the only game the moon witch had ever truly known.