She arrives late, and with unicorns in tow.

Somehow she is no longer afraid. Maybe the incredible stress of facing down Deimos was enough to melt away her anxiety, her fear. Maybe after staring the Basin in the eyes, walking to the gates of the home of those who have hated her family since before she was born and coming back home, triumphant, to tell the tale, has left the idea of leading a herd petty and small, a laughable challenge to the copper child. At least none in the Throat wanted to kill her and all of her blood, to see her mother cast to wolves and her aunt torn asunder by the talons of beasts. Certainly that perspective is enough to lighten the load of leadership, to make her feel more confident, more capable, than she has in many nights.

Or perhaps she has simply borne enough, endured an acceptable amount of turmoil and stress. How long has she struggled beneath insecurity and guild, worn down again and again by a grindstone of failure, a trail of disasters left, unwilling, in her wake? It is too much for a child to bear, even a child who seeks to be a hero; it is too much weight to carry all together, all at once, and something had to give if she were to survive.

After all, at least she's not a murderer. So things really could be worse.

She strides in late and her strong steps falter beneath the weight pressing bodies and heavy eyes, the hungry breath of all who wait, wait to judge and find her not enough. Painful awareness floods her mind, a blinding light and a sinking darkness- she may at last be strong to herself, but who is she to them, the assembled masses and half-known names, the strangers who have followed Africa, Ampere, Sohalia, Gaucho... and now Tandavi the Fire Dancer, the shy and secret Child Queen?

Another in a string of faces, another in a list of names. Why is she any different than them? Why should she lead any of them, why should she lead any of them, why should...

Because you care, comes her brother's whisper. Because someone has to do it.

She steps forward and her head holds high, regality, strength, beauty in her figure and fire in her eyes. She looks at all of them, and none of them, dark eyes drifting through familiar faces and unknown forms before settling on Gaucho, the Wildfire, the Killer, the one who made her Queen.

She may not know how she feels about the stallion, but she knows that should any try to hurt her herd, she shall personally strike them down. That goes for the behemoth, and against him, too.

She swallows.

Onyx eyes turn back to her guest, the strange Basin Weaver who had insisted upon following them home. The girl was not sure how she felt about Ulrik, and particularly uncertain about his insinuations regarding her relationship with Sacre, but he was here now, which meant their quest could finally be done. "If you will give me the flag now, Sacre will make sure you get your metal..." she murmurs softly, glancing quickly at her friend for some confirmation of the promise. She thinks to where the charm from the Edge rests in her tail, of the heartache endured to acquire that, and pride begins to fill her again, a warm, seeping confidence which eases her bones and warms her blood.

Perhaps she is simply a child queen, but she has yet to fail her herd. And that is enough for now.