When the dragon’s shadow, her mother’s shadow, slides across the sands an echo of relief shakes through her bones. Kitra was not fit to fret over a kingdom as she had in the last days – the war seemed to rage on forever and with each night her heart grew heavier and her hooves heavier. Although she was no longer a foal, Kitra has always lived a life of decadence – never one of responsibility and burden.
Kratos had left her to watch over the kingdom as he ran off to war with some mare she’d never even laid eyes upon. He had left her with her shoulder singed and veins throbbing from his lightning hide and she was pretty fucking pissed about it. He hadn’t even checked on her. Just left her, scorched and begrudgingly frightened at the screams and cries that the wind carried from the north, she could almost smell the blood.
The gold faced girl scrambles to her feet from beneath her father’s Great Oak and chases her mother’s shadow, frowning at what lay in her clutches. By the time she reaches the trio, her mother is back in the sky and her frown had now spread further across her face and was accompanied by a scathing glare. But then her mother's voice comes, "make sure she believes you are her sister and your father and i, her parents." And then she was gone, again. Um, hello, yes mother I am fine, thanks for asking. Glare.
The glare has not left her eyes as she turns her gaze to the rotting boy, ordinarily she would have had some snide remark but today she has only fatigue and annoyance. She nods to the black girl, Feyre, one she had seen at her father's side already before turning to Weaver, a girl who's name she does not know. Well if she was supposed to be her sister, she'd get the full sibling treatment. “Oh shut up, little sister, must you always be such a bitch? She's only trying to help your spoiled ass.” Pissy Kitra is pissy..