KINGDOM ANNOUNCEMENT

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She lingered on the fringes of Nerine, pacing back and forth with no regard for the tired colt trailing endlessly behind her. Were it not for the promise she had made to her granddaughter, she would have already left for certain, would not have come back since the day she gave birth to Arctyrus in the forest. Bile rises to the mare's lips in remembrance of that day, and her pace hastens. The black colt at her heels bleats uselessly for her to slow, though he knows better than to think that his mother would heed his pitiful request. To her credit, at least, the child appeared well-fed; despite the failure of their bonding due to... certain circumstances (read: a mother, abandoning her son without even so much as a glance back, forced to rejoin him by the men in her life who yet had hope that she could still become who she once was before she became a whore), Scorch managed to will herself to feed her son. He was ravenous, though, promising to become a relative giant compared to her; soon, she would be weaning him. Far sooner than she had her other children.

At long last, the call came. Without warning the mare plunged into the kingdom, easily navigating the rocky hills at a speed that a monthling could simply not hope to keep up with. When Arc's bleating became almost too faint to hear over the howling of the coastal wind, Scorch finally stopped, the stub of her tail swinging irritably as she awaited the arrival of her son. "Keep up," she snapped, not so much as checking to see if he was okay before continuing.

After that, Arc kept a better pace, though he never again came within speaking distance of his mother.

They settled without ceremony in the fragmented crowd which gathered to hear the passing of the crown, the failed Matriarch and the son she did not love. Despite the love that she held for each individual member here, despite her literal blood relation to them and if not that, then her adoptive nature to them, she practically did not listen. When her old self tore through the flaming armour which she wore now, crackling gently against her fire-eaten skin, she nearly began to sob.

How could she not care more about Breckin's health, the recruit whom she'd brought in and raised and watched flourish for so many years? How could she not feel more ecstacy upon watching her granddaughter wear a crown that, by the laws of blood, belonged solely to her? How could she not laugh and make a joke with her trickster son as he stood moodily but faithfully alongside his lover and new queen? How, oh god, how could she mistreat her youngest son so, so terribly?

A single tear evaporated against the fire armor she wore before the mare stuffed down the feelings, swallowing them whole as though to do so would permanently remedy the situation which threatened to ruin her life.

"I pledge my support to you," Scorch called brusquely, shoulders tense as eyes turned to her. Although it seemed as if she ought to have said more, the Matriarch instead fell to silence; once more failing to meet the expectations of any around her.

Oh god...

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle