His voice suddenly came from behind and so did the damp smell of moss and root. The temperature even seems to shift when he descends on them, and with him comes a bit of humidity, though you'd never be able to tell in such a moist place like the Falls. He is the Mountain's father, Macaria has seen that before, she's watched them talk over the storytelling pool. She stood there with her own mortal father – who has yet to arrive – and saw them together.

His earthy tentacle appendage extends, a comforting caress of his emerald hand unfurled to find her flesh. Macaria can see Ranjiri, a name she only knows because of her love for the winged woman's mother. She'd once been something like a mother, as close to a mothering sort as Ari would ever really. This makes the evidence of pure sorrow brimming Ran's pretty eyes to be a stab to her gut. Her tail twitches in an involuntary response to the flood of familial pain the pricks her metaphorical heart. She doesn't look to whomever is at each side of her, they could be recognized or not, she doesn't pay any mind. She only watches the unfolding of the scene at hand, the demotion of her father, the promotion of Ktulu's wounded daughter. The dappled girl has a small struggle with what to feel, sure her father has been gone. He really has. She cannot help but relate her own small bit of hidden contempt for his absence to that of his herd, his family, the realm.

You don't argue with a God, I suppose, or his logic. Her inner voice rings out to her mother, wherever she is, wherever the dead go. Where is my father? I hope he isn't with you, Mother, please don't let him be with you. Her rosy nostrils flutter as the blood rushes to her face. They're so beautiful though. She doesn't blink as the second Czarina takes her place beside the Mountain. Gooseflesh spreads across her entire body and her sparks begin to flash faintly across her star-shaped markings. Her tail dances, coils and uncoils, twitches and flicks the white -tasseled tip while her emotions begin to find their rightful corners of her brain. She squares her stance, straightening her posture.

She's not the Princess anymore. She's part of something even bigger, something she'll earn, something she can feel. These woman can lead, they are the future, they are what the Falls has been craving, what it laments for. These Queens – her Queens. Pride, something she's rarely felt, swells in her. Somewhere deep down though, there is an ache, a pang of pain for her Father's sake. For the sake of their broken family. For a sort of dynasty that almost was, but has no chance and maybe never did. Someone cheers and Macaria joins in with a half rear and an enthusiastic squeal.

The air dies down, the cheers simmer. The God makes his response to their suggestion, their small plea, very clear.

Denied.

Macaria's ears flip back into her messy black hair, her eyes darting to Isopia's face to read her reaction. Her own heart sinking a bit as her golden gaze finds the caped Queen. The pair of women recovered quickly, however. The Mountain did not seem to waver and Ari was certainly paying attention, she betrayed nothing of what turned over in her mind as the refusal left her father's lips. Her comrade is the same, accepting the answer and offering a solution and addressing the rest of the gathered herd. Their numbers were not at all what they once were. They were fractured.

She decides with a thumping heart that it's probably best for her to step forward now and make it clear she isn't just Archibald's daughter, but a woman of the Falls firstly. “I am happy to do whatever is most needed – as an Architect or just being helpful, whatever you may need.” She lets her horn tilt and her head dips gracefully, a curtsy of sorts. “Congratulations to you both.” And I am hopeful for our prosperous future. But she leaves the last bit inside her, for only her mother to hear, wherever she is. Wherever the dead go.

dare my wild heart