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BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
Chess Pieces were falling like domino's. Is this what chaos looks like? Perhaps it was why she had mostly traveled alone in her younger years. Maren's eyes were sharp as they rolled past the dried blood on Cera's frame. Even Ampere, whose blue hide she would've thought able to camouflage any bruise, looked cracked and flawed more than usual. The lack of healers reflected in their stance as a herd, the lack of leadership in their words.
Not only that, but a whole season had passed and still the loss of Gaucho was a present-day reflection of their actions. Maren could only close her eyes to it. It had been just another part of life, yet it had set off the balance of the herd enormously, looked almost dire enough that they would need something dramatic like a flood to set them straight on their hooves again. Mr. Teatime came to sit beside her, pawing the dusty sand of the dune as he turned his head to her. Through all that Maren was, he felt her patience slip now more than ever. He looked at her through odd eyes: Watching a time bomb tick and tick, like a clockwork waiting for noon, so that it could finally slam its bong and pour the damn tea. However, it seemed that they had waited too long already as it was, and the tea had gotten cold.
More than ever Maren wondered what her call was in this repeating cycle of chaos, arrogance and the recurring everything-has-turned-to-poop-and-nobody-is-doing-their-damn-job policies (Sikeax had said the same, unrectified things after all).
She wasn’t even going to waste any more thoughts on it, just that they could both use some more speech skills. Lengthy, was Mr. Teatime’s comment on all the words falling from these ridiculously dramatic ponies. That too, she thought in agreement to the waste of words they could’ve used to fuel something possibly similar to an atomic bomb. Of course there were truths flying around as well, yet, it seemed they kept being buried by assumptions and opinions that she would think it hard for any regular mind to keep track of it all. The things that were said, well, it was only half true. Yes, they had been stolen from apparently. Yes, they had lost their healer - but hadn't they strived in crafting? Despite being casually late most of the time, had she not been here or something? I am used to being forgotten... But this... it was just a tad bit sadder than normal.
Maren’s eyes traveled to Sikeax as she appeared. She sighed, stretched out her right wing from behind her cheek to fan away the puff of fog that she had let slip out from her nose. They obviously are in dire need of some guidance, she pointed out to Mr.Teatime as she listened to Sikeax talk. She feels pressured, The diviner thought, and she is shattering underneath it all.
She was not surprised to find voiced prayers in her ears, asking for guidance, asking for Him to decide for them. For their Patron God to stray down from the heavens. Maren wandered over to him (@Hector), but was surprised to recognize him as the one who had once called her out for the way her wings looked so long ago. She huffed, but who knew, maybe he had grown up now. She wasn’t interested in trying to reach the crowd, so the Diviner focused her words on the stallion rather than anyone else. Her tone was therefore not very loud, a volume that could perhaps be the right one for a possible voice of reason. “If we aren’t even able to decide on, and appoint, our own leader, and He would do so for us again, it would just show that we aren't capable of standing on our own hooves as a herd.” She sighed, a foggy sigh because her magic made it so. “Besides, as long as I am still here I am the only one who should be calling upon our Lord.” Otherwise my job would be pretty pointless, wouldn’t you think? “Have faith in me instead, to decide whether it is time to call down our God or not, okay?” her eyes were silent as always as they covered the stallion, yet she tried to smile at him —...but she failed, obviously and, if she had been trying to make it look reassuring, it only made her look less trustworthy.
Among all the doom and negativity, Sohalia becoming Sultana sounded like music in her ears, knowing that she was a stable mare — a mare she had gotten to know and respect. When Maren had first entered the Throat she had been Sultana, too, and she remembered those times as one of the best seasons the Throat had had since her arrival. Would she accept it, it would be ridiculous to not accept her as a leader.
You know why I don’t mix myself in these kind of discussions? Maren mused to her faithful companion, who had remained just as silent as her. He purred against her leg, obviously did not know, until she let the thought stream towards him with memories. Because it’s not worth it. She released another puff of fog. If I started worrying about this kind of thing I would just end up severing my ties with this family, too. Doing that once was enough. And for the first time that she had her companion at her side she felt a rush of sadness flung at her — and, for that moment, she felt sad too. They were all just wasteful arguments and endless, tiring opinions. Even Maren’s own judgmental thoughts were tiring her.
But everything comes to an end at some point. And she very much supported that. “Cera is great and has proved himself stable in his craft, but he would be leaving yet another position open. Sohalia gets my vote. She was Sultana when I came to the herd and we were prosperous then. Be it as a warrior or a diplomat, I have faith she would be the stability we are lacking.”
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