between the shadows and the soul - erebor, diplomats

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The quiet is around her when the call comes. Or should I say, no equine happens to be making noise until the call comes. The Jungle truly is never silent; the parrots and the howlers and the leopards all call from one region to the next, voices stretching further even than that of the loudest sister. Truly marvelous, she thinks with a crude smile at the nearest parrot, who she’s hoping isn’t one of the talking ones. But to business.

Swishing what little tail-hairs she has, the Khaleesi pushes through the vegetation, ignoring a nearby path in favour of the most direct route. A hidden lid slips across her eyes, and suddenly she sees in heat; far in the distance, a group of sisters stand talking. Closer yet, Wrynn and Leiland lay sleeping, intertwined. A small smile crosses her lips, but she forces it away.

A moment later, the fire-sister emerges next to Sunday, face neutral, if not slightly hard. That being said, she and Straia have met aplenty in the field, and she shouldn’t be too shocked at Scorch’s way of holding herself. The colt is another story completely, however. But Scorch only bothers with her own kids. Unlike plenty of women in this very Jungle, she prefers blood of her blood to blood of strangers.

“Greetings, Queen Straia.” A dip of her large, fearsomely tattooed head. “I am Khaleesi Scorch,” She says to the younger of the two diplomats. He begins speaking swiftly, in a deep voice which Scorch has known in none of her children, at least not at a young age. Alas, Scorch is rather indifferent towards the children of others, so instead of contemplating, she simply replies.

“Your mother is quite an important woman, Erebor. And the Jungle is doing very well – we are gaining members by the day, and the effects of the disaster can almost be forgotten now.”

And then Straia speaks, addressing Sunday. Scorch has a reply in mind, but decides that her Bloodrider is by far capable of answering her own questions. Watching the two Chamberlings with something of curiosity, Scorch falls silent, towering above them all at sixteen hands. But she’s always liked looking down at others – oops, did that come out? Ah, well. No one’s really surprised, anyways.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle