If the blind mare staggered back from her approach, Meg took little pity on her. It was certainly not usual for the Sunspear to be so callous to anyone, let alone one so obviously unmatched with her physically, but the spitfire sultana was not one to forgive a slight either. Her eyes narrowed, cutting daggers the blind mare wouldn’t see as Rasta all but stammered out a response. Her words didn’t make sense and the bay gave an angry snort of frustration. Why had she come if the leaders of the Falls had not sent her with news? Not that they should have sent her but perhaps some tragedy had befallen the eastern herd an the blind one was the only one to be sparred.

Before Megaera could begin an agitated interrogation a splash from behind pulled her head around to see Cera landing. She might have smiled and the arrival of her friend, she certainly started to, but Cera’s anger wiped the grin off her face in an instant. He chastises her, scolds her her and the shock of it leaves her momentarily wide eyed and speechless.

On one hand it’s Cera, her dear friend, whom she had never before herd him raise his voice in anger. The look he casts her is baffling, that nasty disapproval for something she would not have considered wrong, and the fact that it comes from him makes her stomach turn. It seems tantamount to a betrayal, that he would pick this bitch-faced stranger over her, that he would accuse her of being unjust where she would have thought herself justified. Just his look is enough to harden little pit of shame in her stomach. On the other hand, it’s her Crafter, lecturing the Sultana like a newborn child in front of an outsider; dissection in the ranks for all of Helovia to see. How was she supposed to rule if her name could not command a level of respect at home and abroad. His attitude, his presumption is enough to rake deep, angry furrows in her pride.

The dichotomy of bad feelings triggered by one she loved so well painted a severe look of incredulity on her face, wide eyed and ears tilting backward towards he neck. “Gwaihir is not my puppet to command. He will do as he sees fit. As for visitors I would think it was for the Sultana to decide how they should be greeted, and I would show them every courtesy that they gave me.” The harsh snap in Meg’s voice was something she fervently wished never to unleash at Cera again; to pull rank like that even to nurse a bruised ego left a foul taste in her mouth. She bit her tongue before she could throw anything else out in haste.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her rattled nerves but before she could truly succeed, Cera was reaching for Rasta. Black eyes narrowed, focusing on the small touch with a flare of jealousy that she knew was quite unbecoming for a grown woman and so she shut her eyes to it, however briefly. You’re supposed to be my friend! Mine, not hers! It was childish, but it still echoed in her mind as she tried to at least act with the decorum her rank required. She was the Sultana, god damn it!

Megaera managed to build up a mask of not-so-mild, proud-as-fuck, resting bitchface, and at least she stopped herself from spewing a temper-induced stream of curses at Cera that knew definitely would have regretted later. She listened as the Golden Prince accounted for the mare’s presence at their doorstep and her brown furrowed with obvious skepticism when the mare (so strangely more timid that Meg remembered her) added her two cents.

Gaucho arrived before she could reply and Megaera returned his dignified nod. It seemed he had a knack for showing up just in time, to pull her back from the brink of temper, to remind her to be better; his fire always there to temper her fury. She watched him for a moment a moment, letting his stoic presence calm her, taking several deep breaths before turning back towards Rasta and Cera.

She had not remembered Rasta from the time before the Wraiths plagued Helovia, having only been a member of the herd a short time before the land was plunged into upheaval. The fact that the mare had opposed Gaucho’s leadership was a new nugget of knowledge and, as far as the aggressively loyal Meg was concerned, a blazing black mark on her record. The Sultana did not speak. She was calmer now, ready to accept that Cera might have a history that she could not infringe upon but wholly unconvinced that she should take the outsider into her good graces.

"."
ooc:: -cries and pushes Meg and Cera together- “Now hug it out! You love eachother"