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01-09-2013, 05:58 PM
Among the first to heed the call of the King of Thieves is one oh-so-familiar, so similar yet different. Her hooves carry her toward his voice at a jaunty pace, emerging from the tree cover like a living shadow that surges up the hill with casual grace and power. She is young, full of the vigor of untested youth, yet still older than he who calls her and her fellows. If just barely. Barely does the mouse grulla slow as she crests the hill, falling back only as her vibrant blue eyes take in the battered form of her favorite, and only, nephew. "So quick to be like father?" She teases gently, crossing to brush her muzzle against scars that mark his once unmarred coat. She knew he would know who she meant, in theory at least. Her father was his grandfather, Gunslinger the Unbroken. The lead stallion that wore battle scars with pride, leading those who followed him with a firm hoof.
But then her brief gentle moment was over, teeth lightly nipping at his right shoulder and tugging on his mane in a playfully affectionate gesture. Her muzzle was briefly extended in a greeting to the bronze dragon on his back, before she danced away to stand just below the hill's crest, watery forms dancing around her hooves as she moved. There she paused to wait and learn what he had called them all for, while contemplating the younger stallion's rise to leadership.
But then her brief gentle moment was over, teeth lightly nipping at his right shoulder and tugging on his mane in a playfully affectionate gesture. Her muzzle was briefly extended in a greeting to the bronze dragon on his back, before she danced away to stand just below the hill's crest, watery forms dancing around her hooves as she moved. There she paused to wait and learn what he had called them all for, while contemplating the younger stallion's rise to leadership.
