“Teeth to eat, hooves to walk, dragonflame to warm us in the winter,” she answered back, almost monotone, a sort of chant. Not a mantra, per se, as the question as new to her, but the words came out as though they were a part of her very soul. To fight was to be desparate. Even during the spar where she had gained the scar (“Yes, unicorn horn,” she confirmed) the queen had been dancing away, trying to convince Farenjer that she was not there to fight and that he should stop his wrong doings. She may not have convinced him but he had ran away in the woods nevertheless, the queen convinced that somehow her preaching had changed his mind on war.

However, though she was able to accept a lot of horrid truths, she was not able to accept that she was similar to the towering black stallion before her. “We're not at all the same!” she responded almost defensively, still trying to convince somebody (herself or Tyradon?) that her crusade for peace, her holy war against racism and hatred, was justified and right, that she was somehow better than the monsters that looked for a fight at every turn, that the gods looked upon her with favor where they looked upon him with disgust.

And yet, how could that be? How could it be that Kahlua was their favored, their pet child, when Tyradon had been granted a quest from the God of the Earth and she had not. Her faith began to waver and she shifted uncomfortably again. It never occurred to her that perhaps Father Earth was trying to give her a chance to overcome her nightmares on her own, that Tyradon was being granted a quest as punishment and not favor. Was her faith perhaps wrongly placed? Short though it was, this conversation already had the painted girl doubting herself. How would she fare in the face of a whole herd of unicorns that were convinced they were the Gods' gift to the very Earth?

And with his next speech, his next round of words, the child queen feeling quite lost for what to say, she found that she had never been happier to see Aaron and his bonded approach. What had started as a very strained relationship had grown into some sort of friendship and respect, the queen counting the stallion as one of her many Council members. And where she was lost for words, he was not. His voice was strong where hers was weak, his convictions backed by example where hers were backed by thought and abstraction. “Would you be so keen for war when all your family is dead, or do you care so little for them that they don't matter?” she added after Aaron was done, hoping not to hurt his feelings too much, but knowing that he had lost too many family members for too many reasons.

Not so subtly, the painted girl took a sideways step closer to Aaron, happier to be nearer him than the blackened monster, wondering what sort of new twists and turns this conversation would take.


OOC| You're more than welcome! Sorry for the delay guys, I'm getting back up and onto my feet finally and trying to get caught up.