Ophelia the Amaranthine

Ophelia watched, understanding the grief he was feeling. When she and her sister fell upon her mother's corpse in the woods, she had felt numb, the agony too great to comprehend as tears failed to form from shock. She had stood as Torleik build a pyre, honoring her mother as a warrior queen, and she had leaned on him then for support. They had come a long way since they, but that was the moment she knew that he was the one for her. Selflessly, he had honored a woman he didn't know - simply because she was important to Ophelia.

That was why she had abandoned leadership in the Aurora Basin. That was why she had given up everything she had fought for there and followed Torleik. For him and for the Edge, she had served loyally, gathering many and bringing them together. Ophelia had saved their own from getting their things stolen, she had stolen Gaucho, proving that the Edge was once more a proud nation, capable of great things. She had given up everything to give to the World's Edge, expecting the leadership there to, in turn, recognize and support the rest.

But in his grief, he turned to her daughter - a tempestuous girl without thought to politics. She was great, capable of kindness and the daughter of a god, but she had chosen no loyalties. Roskuld had not lived in a herd to understand their dynamics. Had not served in a rank to know what it means to be a leader. There was no progression of learning and understanding - from lowly rank to queen.

No.

Mauja handed her the World's Edge - a position beside her Torleik - as if it were nothing. Nothing. When she had given everything to be there. Ophelia was standing right there. She was there. Giving the last words of his daughter. He knew she had brought back many to their herd, had served well, protected those within their borders, taught what she could, and he ignored her presence completely! Her ears slammed back against her skull, and that spark of anger burned in her gut as she felt the slight of his offering.

How carelessly he threw away what others had strived to make great.

Someone had to tell Torleik, and she bristled, drops of blood beginning to paint her coat of violent, cruel rain. Tears turned to red streaks slipping down her hide, and it took strength to remain rooted to her spot, cloven toes digging in the ground.

High tide was soon, and she was trapped on his island until it receded. She would wait this out. See what happened.