Common

mazikeen

he Desert, though quiet and daunting in its vastness, has become home. Mazikeen would be remiss to say she missed the Cove. There was nothing the Cove had that she did not claim for herself in the deserts of Salem. Power, freedom, opportunity - it was all there, with the promise of more if only she sought it out. She couldn't even claim to miss Warwick. He had been a reliable source of companionship, had gifted her with two wonderful children, had set her on the path that led her to claiming true queenship, but at the end of the day he had been a stepping stone, a means to an end, a pretty face to look at after a long day of weathering Tinuvel's harsh winters.

Mazikeen has made little effort to build the Desert in her short time as its queen. Warwick and Marceline may pride themselves on the largeness of their flock, but Mazikeen has little care for such trifling things. Her plans for the Desert go beyond building a herd. It is merely another stepping stone on her journey to sowing her name across the islands until every mare, stallion, and foal knows her name to be synonymous with chaos and catastrophe.

One day at a time, she reminds herself. She must ensure her place on Salem is secure. Mazikeen would not be surprised if the former Desert queen returns at the earliest opportunity to attempt to reclaim what she thought to be rightfully hers. Mazikeen would lie in wait until then, drifting across the dunes and imagining a future full of fire and fear and fettered enemies.

Still, she needs something to entertain herself in the meantime. Her children can only hold her attention for so long before Mazikeen becomes bored, her gaze drifting to the distant smudge of the Crossing on the horizon.

"Stay with Vana," Mazikeen orders them one arid spring morning, turning before they can protest and plunging into the sun-warmed sea.

Hours later, Mazikeen shuffles her way across the Commons, her citrine eyes flicking back and forth across the clearing. Cocky young stallions try their luck with pretty fresh-faced mares, foals romp under the watchful gazes of their mothers who wait patiently for a suitor to approach, and in the distance Mazikeen can smell the lingering musk of the Lagoon. It is a picturesque scene, but one that is largely uninteresting to the spotted queen.

Until her gaze catches on a familiar figure lingering at the treeline. There is no hesitation in Mazikeen's step as she makes a beeline for the mare.

There are few memories in Mazikeen's mind that she looks back on with fondness, but of those precious few, Kohelet centers in many of them. Mazikeen had been exceptionally young when she had been dumped upon the shores of the Bay at Fell's hooves by Evrain. She'd been but a small and shivering creature with no mother to call her own, but the Bay matriarch had provided her comfort and security where before she had none.

Indeed, Mazikeen considers Kohelet more of a mother to her than Marceline. Though Marceline may have carried her within her womb and labored to bring her into this world, she was not the one Mazikeen had grown up beside, was not the one who had ensured her survival, who had showered her so openly with love and affection. Mazikeen has known little comfort in her life but that which Kohelet had provided her in her youth, before her darker inclinations took hold and weathered away her innocence like rocks beneath the relentless tide. Yet she can recall, standing here before the brown-eyed mare, feelings of contentment that have long been lost to her.

But what is she doing here? Mazikeen wonders. Last she had laid eyes on Kohelet they had been on Salem and Mazikeen had been just shy of her first birthday. It was a stretch, to say that Kohelet had abandoned her when Mazikeen had been the one to stray, but still she feels some small measure of pain at the memory of returning to the Badlands only to find the tobiano mare had fled back to the Bay. Mazikeen had made do on Salem, chaining herself to Helios and resigning herself to life as a simple herd mare, but often through the years she had wondered what became of the mare who had taken her under her wing.

Now, maybe, she would get answers.

"Kohelet. It's been a long time." Mazikeen murmurs, an uncharacteristic warmth coloring her words. Like fog beneath the summer sun her usual detachedness dissipates, replaced by a warm smile and the offer of a soft touch as she reaches out to offer Kohelet her nose. "What are you doing in the Commons?"