Common

mazikeen

here is unmistakable warmth in Kohelet's voice when she speaks again. Without meaning to, Mazikeen straightens, her posture shifting as she preens with pride. "I do," she confirms, no small degree of satisfaction coloring her words.

Mazikeen had never envisioned herself as a leader before Warwick. But the small measure of influence she had been afforded had whet her appetite, awoken something hungry and restless within her that demanded more. She had tried, and failed, to feed it by absorbing Freki's position into her own, but Warwick was far too stubborn-headed to realize how useless the red mare was to his herd and the Cove as a whole. And so Mazikeen had been forced to share, and had attempted to be happy with what she had.

Yet she was keenly aware that there were opportunities to gain what she so desired, if only she was willing to leave Warwick's side. And though she had grown fond of him in their time together, she valued her independence and her ability to do as she pleased more than she valued him. And so, when the opportunity to strike out on her own arose, she snatched it up with zeal, like a wolf might snatch a plump hare.

Now, she was well on her way to building something great for herself, and having Kohelet by her side would make it all the more sweet. Still, when she extends her invitation, offering Kohelet a place beside her in the Desert, she feels uncharacteristically anxious. She was aware that Kohelet owed her nothing - it there would be no blame or contrition if she said no. But Mazikeen felt she owed Kohelet. The once-was queen had been under no obligation to take in a weak and orphaned filly as she had, and throughout her youth Mazikeen was keenly aware of the fact that without Kohelet, she likely would have perished. Therefore, she owed Kohelet her life, and if she could repay that favor by offering her shelter in her time of need, she would gladly do so.

Somewhat to Mazikeen's surprise, Kohelet accepts. Her words settle strangely within her, though not in an entirely disagreeable way. Warmth floods her chest and before she can school her expression into something more measured, a smile breaks free across her lips. She thinks she must look like a fool, standing there beaming like some over-eager filly. Yet she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure," she reassures the tobiano mare, the words coming out at the end of a low laugh. "I would like to have you around." There are other words that go unspoken, whispered only in the dark recesses of Mazikeen's mind: I would like to have my family with me. Marceline is an acquaintance at best. A helpfully ally, a potential resource. But she is not family, not in the way Kohelet was. Is. Would be, again. Not in the way her children are, despite how infuriating, exhausting, and demanding they are.

At the thought of her children, Mazikeen's lips twitch. "And I have several little hellions of my own now," she adds, shifting her weight, "I am sure they will adore you." And if Kohelet's presence in the Desert means her offspring are occupied with someone other than herself - well, all the better, as far as she is concerned. It would be nice to find some reprieve from the near-constant babysitting she had been doing as of late.

Mazikeen takes a step back and tips her head towards the Shore. "Shall we?"