Nayl regards each of them as they assemble at her word, their eyes trained on her curiously. It has been months – years? – since she last called them all to her. She keeps it minimal, never wanting to stop them from living and from ensuring Nerine’s success.
There is hardly a grin on her face, her expression stoic, appropriate for an iron queen with a fist enthusiastically slamming down. They listen, but few ask questions. This actually surprises her, but she doesn’t allow it to be reflected. Her forelock cascades down her face like a curtain, concealing her fiery eyes as they dance. One by one before she briefly glances to Castile, then to Heartfire. ”I’ve heard there are new lands beside the Lake. See if you can find anything about them.” A silent consideration allows her to mull over the lackluster details that may ensue, and so she adds, ”and see whether Pangea is up to anything yet. They don’t pose a threat, but I still want to be very aware of our immediate neighbors.” They share that invisible wall. They are only miles away from where they currently stand, and that would make anyone uneasy and hypervigilant.
”Orion’s Belt,” she says with a voice of smooth ice while turning her attention to him, ”help recruit some stallions and perhaps we can have our first gladiator battle.” A coy grin touches the corners of her lips, finally. Despite the oddity of the request – stallions tossed into a pen to fight for their citizenship – she can’t help but suppress the eagerness in seeing this all transpire one day soon.
But the appearance – and voice – of Djinni jerks Nayl’s attention away from the quieted male. A wave of relief and comfort washes across the queen, the friendship between them evident and always reassuring. ”I look forward to what news you bring back from Taiga,” because the genie is always scheming, always thinking of ways to strengthen their home in uncustomary ways. ”I would imagine only stallions wanting to live here would want to take part, but if any male is looking for the experience, then I don’t see why they can’t participate.” A shrug ripples through her shoulders then, and she lets the reply consume the brief silence before she adds to them all, ”You may also fight for positions. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a fight in the battlegrounds. If you want a position someone has, or if you and someone else think you’d be a strong candidate for a position, you may issue a challenge. It could be a battle of strength, or of wit, or anything else. Hell, it could be a race if you want. It should keep everyone on their toes and fairly well-rounded.” She searches them for reactions while her ears reach for their voices. ”Any other questions or propositions?”
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