• The Vulcan Peak is where homeless mares come to live as a sisterhood. Stallions may not live here except as captives or companions for the Leaders.
• Warriors keep mainly to fighting, Thinkers keep mainly to raiding, and Politicians may do both, neither, or act as diplomats. Members may issue their own battles and raids, but should generally consult the General, Codebreaker or Prime Minister for permission.
• All major decisions are determined by vote, but the Prime Minister maintains order within the Peak and has the final say.
• Elections for leadership positions will be held every TLI summer, provided the qualifying criteria are met.
• You can find detailed information about how the Peak works on the Rules page.
Vogue's strange red-brown eyes calmly watched the two colts jostling each other up the rocky pathway. She huffed a warning to them to settle down as they continued upward, which they heeded at least for the most part until the path opened to a wider grassy slope. It was at this point that her black-painted son Khorvaire launched forward with the golden Salvatore on his heels.
The Saddlebred shook her head to herself, wanting to smile. Boys were always so unruly. This thought had affirmed itself into truth over the last year or so that she'd been raising colts. Even unruly Versace was a dream compared to the antics of her boys --both sons of Khyber. Her thoughts drifted to Luxor, the older boy, who had been old enough at the time of the battle that he had been made to stay behind in the Lagoon. Vogue was confident enough in his abilities that she was worried for his bold, coltish antics with the older bachelors. His father wasn't even there to mitigate any damage that Luxor might do.
Khyber. Vogue's eyes lingered on the tobiano markings of their younger son as the overo crossed her mind. He often did these days, like a nagging unshaped question. It was vexing to say the least, but Vogue managed thus far to not seek him out. They were here together, weren't they? It was possible she might cross his mind at some point. Dark satin lips pressed together in a thin line as her head swung on a heavily arched neck toward the path behind her.
She saw the chestnut mare without really looking at her. Khyber lay heavy on her mind like a fog. Vogue found herself at an unexpected crossroads now that she'd been taken to the Peak. For the first time in years, there were different paths she could choose from. It was possible now for her to stay here in the Peak with the sisterhood and, more importantly, with her daughter Versace. The duty she felt to the confused young mare was more than enough to make her stay, and yet she considered the prospect of going back to the Lagoon in equal measure.
Vogue took more notice of the mare now that she was further encroaching on the imagined bubble around the tobiano mare and rough-housing colts. The sooty face of the dunalino Salvatore turned toward the bay paint with a question in his golden eyes. The Saddlebred could only force a smile to appease the boy -- the grandson whom she'd been taking care of-- before gesturing for them to go further up the slope. The colt, without further ado, nipped at Khorvaire's withers before sprinting clumsily further up.
Vogue snorted a hearty warning at the red mare now. Her long tail, thread with black and white, whizzed like a hornet in the air as it swung back and then forth. Dark-rimmed ears pressed backward as she said a friendly enough warning. "There's plenty hill and path, miss, for you to go around us." She was tense, which made it hard to be polite. Vogue was in limbo here, being neither Sister nor prisoner, and thus had no standing. This veiled warning to leave her and the boys be could very well be seen as her being rude to a resident or someone protecting them. Regardless, Vogue found herself willing to trust very few these days.