They are not as impressive as the Dragon Throat of old, the lightning maiden notes to herself churlishly; they are not soldiers, not healers, not bold-hearted rulers of iron blood. This new herd is full of half-hearts, riddled with uncertainties, and she wonders if they'll be able to survive the heat of the summer sun and the bitter cold of the remaining winter weeks. It's difficult to imagine this ragtag gathering turning into something to be proud of, but it's more difficult to imagine her world without the arid sands, the wind and the storms of the desert. I can help them, she reminds herself firmly. I do not have to drift away on the breeze. Yet still, the slender mare cannot overlook the frailty of her new leader, the wing shredded from shoulder; she cannot forget Ampere's volatile nature, her shrieks and shouts in the cavern coming just as suddenly as her tears. The daughter of the Ardent's heart gives a pained twist, mirroring the scowl contorting her charcoal lips; their union seems bizarre, if not downright foolish, and she wonders what struck the Sun God to gift them with dragon crowns and leadership of his herdland.

A shrug ripples through her wings, a flicker of her ebonite feathers. Even if they were doomed to failure, she would do her best to assist the leaders, as was her responsibility as part of the herd.

A shout rings obnoxiously loud through the air; her cranium jerks upwards, ears twisting to pin to her neck. Obsidian brows furrow as she gives a second glance to the equine mare singled out by Ampere. Why would she steal someone just for the practice? Azulee thought that rather violent for the sake of a few laughs- but nonetheless, she feels vaguely annoyed at the Sultana's dire warnings. Shouting would not help anyone, not any more than it would win her respect.

The electric mare steps forward, arching her neck with all elegance she can muster, wings put to half-mast and smile gracing charcoal lips. "If I may interrupt," she begins with flourishing eloquence and courtesy, but the lightning maid has never been one to dance and circle around the point. "I don't believe shrieking will help anyone other than give them an earache. The mare made a mistake- as long as she doesn't do it again, what's the point in yelling about it?" Voltaic eyes dance with an unreadable light, and on that note and with an imperious flick of an ear, she steps back into the ranks of pegasi and assorted species, slipping into anonymity once again.

As Africa greets her, the delicate mare quietly acknowledges her with a dip of her head. She doesn't put it to words, but she vows inwardly to not disappear as swiftly as she had last year.

As the one-winged leader comes to finish speaking, the lightning maiden feels a twinge of relief. Perhaps she had been wrong, with her beliefs of insecurity; it seemed that the sultanas had set up an impressive system to follow in Kri's footsteps; and she wondered if she should say something now, or later, about her interests. Now, she decides. "I would be interested in working as a Spear," Azulee confesses, with a balletic dance of her long obsidian lashes. "And working upwards in the ranks. I want to help the herd the best I can."