01-07-2016, 10:00 PM
The king calls to them; Roan raises her head from where she has been rooting through the snowbanks and devouring mouthfuls of grass when the call goes out across the land, thunderous and booming. She responds to it like the rest of them do, abandoning whatever droll task was at hand and she goes to them, knowing full well that she may receive a less than stellar welcome but she is rather undaunted by such a fact, owing to the knowledge that there have always been a few foolhardy but tough mares subsisting on the sparse fare and companionship of the Tundra. To that, she is no exception having spent her first and earliest moments here under another king’s great wing. She recognizes Hurricane by his scent but it is in the crook of Brynmor’s side that she hides, pressed against him, rather docile and quiet as each of the stallions voices an opinion on the matters at hand. They talk of war brewing and that does not entirely surprise her even if she is not exactly politically inclined or involved. Same with the foal exchange and alliances - those things have always traditionally existed for them, sometimes successfully and other times as a complete and utter failure. She has little to say or add in the way of all of this and merely keeps to the gray stallion’s side, his scent a familiar assurance to her as the little blind mare stays well… blindly off in the direction of where the king probably stands.
Roan had some thoughts as to why the foal swap wasn’t always a successful venture - they weren’t exactly breeding and if they did, the mares were often members of other kingdoms to begin with and the foals stayed with their mothers. Must be kind of hard to swap what you don’t have and therefore the Amazons cannot follow through either and send their colts if they’re not receiving anything on their end. But she kept her mouth shut thinking that the wiser course to stick to for the time being. It was enough that she was there - the lone mare amongst them thus far.
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