She’s heard of the Cove of course, how could she not? Khaos had been her dearest, most talented child. The one most destined for greatness. She’d watched with pride as he’d built his herd and spread the family line, giving her a multitude of wonderful, and even sometimes talented, little grandchildren.
But then that bitch from the war had come and had destroyed her son just as she’d destroyed the Valley.
Oswyn’s avoided the Cove since then. The thought of seeing her darling son’s body, left for the elements, fills her with both a rage and despair.
But recently rumours have reached her of Khaos’ son, her grandson, carrying on the work in the Cove, albeit in his own … interesting, fashion. Even if she doesn’t entirely approve of his methods, he’s caught her interest. And when she’d become pregnant again, well, she’d had an idea.
She enters the Cove at midday, keeping a close eye on the tiny black filly at her side - the girl is only a few hours old yet, and still a little shaky in her steps. She’d been most pleased to discover that the girl had inherited her father’s wings, and she hopes yet that the child will display another one of her father’s gifts before she gets too much older. But if things go as planned, she won’t be here to see it.
She lets out a low whinny, calling out to her grandson. He will not recognize her of course, but with a little explanation, she hopes he will be pleased with the gift she brings. Smiling now, she glances back down at the girl at her side. “We’re here now Misra. This is the Cove.”
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