Mazikeen had settled into life as the Cove's Queen quite nicely. She found she took great pleasure lording over Warwick's flock, and even greater pleasure in planning, in precise detail, how she would strengthen that flock, which mares she would snatch from their homes to present to her king. In her time with Warwick she had become intimately familiar with his fondness for hot-headed females - there is no better gift she could think to give him, aside from the son she has already borne, to prove her strength and her loyalty.
But even the birth of their child had been marred in Mazikeen's mind. She had given him the strong son she promised all those months ago, but Freki had gone and one-upped her, providing him two daughters from one coupling. Though Mazikeen had yet to interact in any substantial way with either of the girls, she could only assume they will prove themselves the best of both their parents. The thought alone was enough to sour Mazikeen's already fickle mood, the bitter bile of hatred rising in the back of her throat.
So sour was her mood that she decides, one bright autumn day, to take her leave of the Cove. She was not concerned that Warwick might take note of her temporary absence, nor that he will notice she has left Orthon behind.
For some time she wandered aimlessly, meandering about Tinuvel before setting her sights on Luthien. From the shores of the Bay it looked like nothing more than a green-brown smudge on the horizon, entirely uninteresting. But the sight set her skin to itching, a restlessness stirring deep in her belly. She barely spared a glance back towards the Cove before plunging into the frigid Tinuvel sea, her legs carrying her swiftly towards the forest island.
The day passed in a lazy haze as she picked her way through the Forest. The birds sung merrily in the canopy above and the buttery spring sunlight dappled the leaf-littered ground before her. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the steady rumble of the ocean. One might consider the day to be perfect, but Mazikeen found it to be mundane. Boring, even, until…
A feminine voice rang out in the distance. The exact words were lost to the trees, but it piqued Mazikeen's interest just enough. A quick alteration to her course sent her towards the shore. There, ahead, movement between the trees drew Mazikeen's attention further. On quiet hooves she stepped forward until she could peer between the palm trees. Before her was a scene most would consider quite wholesome and heartwarming: a young girl playing under the watchful eye of her loving mother.
Amber eyes flick towards the filly. She is a lovely little thing, her red-and-ivory coat standing out in stark contrast against the verdant shrubbery that surrounds them. A thought, fleeting yet sinister, flickers at the back of her mind as she peers at the girl. Mazikeen sets it aside and returns her gaze to the painted mare, peering at her from between the trees like a predator sizing up its prey.