From the others, she'd stood apart. Ktulu's form, Phaedra's glittering shawl...she could not bare to be near the both of them simultaneously. Her heart ached with worry for Apollo. Many a time she wished to let the power of her poisonous clouds envelop the bitch that dared to try and hurt the one she kept so dear to her heart. She could not, though. As much as she would have loved to see the cunt choke on her own blood and lie foaming at the mouth with sunken eyes, Lakota had to pass the challenge on for Apollo to face. And the Merciful...he had reigned victorious. As much as she hated to admit it, she had doubted him for a few moments, for Apollo was a healer. He was no warrior. Lakota was, perhaps, but not Apollo. In fact she still could easily, vividly, recall the day she had charged the beach to save Phaedra and Apollo in their youth. Now, they had both grown, both passing her to assume leadership positions that she had never been considered for. But the time for bitterness was over. She had accepted that she would not be, and honestly, was she even worthy of such a position? She did not inspire love and loyalty like Apollo. She did not soothe and entice like Phaedra. She was brutality and honesty, hard work and blood, tears and sacrifice. Though as she trailed behind her triumphant leader, a young voice rang out, bitten into by the wolves of her brethren, and Lakota knew she must speak.
"Speak, child. But know this- you have no idea the power the Grey once held. I am the oldest member left among their ranks. I am their Poisoner, Lakota, and I could kill you where you stand with a whim." It is a clear threat, a reminder of Colt's place, but there is a shine of interest in her eyes. This fiery dame was fiercely intriguing, and Lakota liked her guts. At least she had a voice. Her eyes turned to Phaedra then, and she honestly could have cared less that the lass was her leader, because Lakota had been her elder sister in heart for far longer than her time as a ruler. "She speaks truth, Phaedra. Grey we may be no longer, but kindness will not keep a herd running. This land has been cursed with failure for too long. Apollo has shown his heart can truly win over his nature as a healer. But will we always be so lucky?" Stepping closer to the male she had referenced her eyes softened where nobody could see.
"You fought bravely, Polly. You have grown so much from the stallion I saved on the beach that day. Lie still, dear. Let me heal you." If the affection term bothered him, she would not notice, for her eyes slipped shut and she brushed her muzzle in a kiss against the uninjured part of his neck, feeling the familiar jolt of earthen power through her limbs as it traveled from her to her patient. Skin was sewn together, blood renewed, bruises softened, and when she could do nothing else she withdrew in silence.
Turning she faced her kin, some of which did not belong, for they had renounced their titles long ago. She did not judge them for it. Loyalty did strange things to people. "Our guard is weak because of our lack of members, child. And you wish us to close our borders on potential members? There is more you must learn before you speak, though there is at least some value in your brain." She snorts, uncaring if she hurts the dame's feelings, and strides into the center of the attention proudly, head high and eyes sharp as amethyst daggers. This was her time to rule, to speak, to show them all her might. "A soldier? Tell me, nameless one, would you fight me here now? Would you kill without mercy, bleed and burn and harm yourself, and still move on with half-broken body to fight for this land you tarnish with your words?" Like a black jaguar she advances, slow and lean and muscled, scarred and thick with the life of her killer ways. Locked onto Colt, her eyes are searing, ready to dig into the young maiden's soul and burn her should she say the wrong things.
"That is what Apollo has just done. He has always been a healer. But we were abandoned by our leaders. The courage he used to step to the throne is more than you can hold in one hoof, so at least show respect for that. He is what kept us together, warrior or no!" Now she is a serpent, biting and poisonous, and her mists begin to rise- long seasons since they last had been used- sinuously around her legs. It is a fog that reeks of death and sweet, tempting perfumes. She could drug her, kill her, drag her into a coma with a minor change of intention in her magic. Her mists are like living things, eager to expand, but she holds them fast. It is a display of power, not a threat. Soon they settle again.
"Know this, child. Had Apollo ever fallen, Phaedra would not have hesitated to take his place to fight. And had she failed as well, I would have risen to do the same. There will always be a warrior to fall back on. Our leads are not meant for war, maybe you are right. But Apollo has shown himself able to be one, and we were all beginners once. Do not spit on his kind heart, child, when he has put it aside to keep this home for you. I value your spirit, your fire. Tame it beneath me, if you wish, but do not speak as such to our leader. You are strong of will, but you are little more than an errant flame ready to burn what it touches carelessly." Her eyes pin onto Colt, and a smirk of interest curls her lips. "If you wish to be a soldier, then show you are brave enough to suffer defeat for the blood and safety of your people. You are worthless to me otherwise." This time she is dismissive, flicking her aurals uncaringly, and Aodaun is at her heels, regal as ever, massive in his growth. Turning now she directs her next words to all of them, and there is a passion in her eyes that hadn't been there for so many months.
"We are victorious!" she cries, stepping slowly before the circle of people, plume flickering in a dangerously sexy way, for once putting her body on display in a fashion more befitting Phaedra, but not intended for the same effect. It is to show that she is here, she does not forgive, she does not forget, and she will fight with these warriors until the day she bled her blackened heart into the earth. "But we are under threat! There is weakness in our hearts, and I know you feel it. We have been left, abandoned, and it is hard for us to continue on after such a departure, regardless of our feelings of each individual who has left our family!" Here she sends a kindly look, though aristocratic in nature, to the Dauntless and his bitch. Lakota had sent him out of the borders with her blessing and promise of aid should he ever call her. Already she had answered his pleas once, and would do so again should he ever need her. He was family regardless of allegiance.
"We must grow stronger. We must do so carefully, however. We have treaded upon ground we should not have, allied with the wrong side. Does that mean we are doomed to be hated forever? Are we not able to redeem ourselves?" Sharply she spins to pace the other way, and soon she turns and faces Apollo head on. Suddenly her words are soft, intense, and her eyes plead with Apollo to understand her, to know that she is on his side, that her acknowledgement of Colt's worries did not have her thinking any less of him.
"I ask, friend, only one favor. That we convene with our enemies. Ones that have lurked, watching. The Asylum. Are they enemies any longer? Could we offer them safety here, in return for their skills of passion and battle, and a truce to live as one? The Grey was a group within a herd. Why can they not be that group now? We need them. I do not ask we decide now, but please friend, let us send a diplomat. Let us meet with their leaders." Steeling herself is needless but she does so anyway, crown raised high and regal, and she is every bit the royal blood she was born, a princess who had cast away her crown after murdering the king who had held her throne. Her own father. "I volunteer myself to do this, if nobody else agrees with me. I will not stand another threat, the possibility of an invasion. Perhaps it is not safe to trust them, but it is not safe to leave them be to plot, either." With that she falls silent, and turns to stride to an empty corner to stand tall and proud, uncaring of the reactions she might garner. It is long past the time when she might have worried how they thought of her. Now, she was determined only to think of the well-being of her herd, and the few in it whom she loved.
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