Nayl expected more anger and more upheavals, but then reminds herself of how few were actually here. She remembers how quiet it had been and how silenced Naga became. There shouldn’t be a reason for an angry outcry, but still Nayl prepared herself for it.
They arrive quickly and she pitches a glance toward each one curiously, her lips pursed into a thin line. Most are agreeable and curious, but Celeana breaks from the crowd with words bleeding with poison. As always, Nayl listens and she weighs what is being said. As far as it affecting her, it has no success. Her autumn eyes stare unyieldingly at the spotted mare and her body never wavers from her place. The situation warrants a response, but just as Nayl’s mouth opens she sees Stillwater retaliate in her name. His thread would be considered idle, but she senses the hunger in him, daring Celeana to respond. Nayl unabashedly grins to herself as her eyes, curtained behind her forelock, steadily watch the stallion. He is winning favor with her time and time again, but she doesn’t admit this aloud. The predicament they are all in is far too demanding of attention for Nayl to distract herself with ideologies of Stillwater’s manner. While she mildly enjoyed his barbed tongue, Djinni takes another stance. Warnings are being volleyed among them and at first, Nayl says nothing. She will not raise her voice louder among them and so she waits as the salty breeze tousles her mane and tail.
More have shown themselves than she anticipated. With the change their numbers are creeping from the taverns and dunes as though they’ve been here this entire time. Snide remarks come to mind, but Nayl steadies her tongue with impatience until there is finally a moment in which she can speak. Her gaze levels on Bowie then Simeon as he gives his own passage and openness to hear of these minor changes. Calculating her reply, Nayl takes a drawn breath and rolls her shoulders. She looks among them as her body quivers with anticipation, but to them she is made of marble and ice. Her tongue is sharp and brash, hardly as tender as their previous leader. ”No, Celeana,” her attention darts from the men to the spotted mare again, ”I cannot pull alliances out of my ass. Naga never had us visit the other lands so that’s where I’m heading after this – to see what lies beyond these borders. I suggest putting your mouth to better use and representing Nerine in an outing to one of the other herds.” Despite the thorns in her voice Nayl remains steady and unfazed, never reactive.
It's with this same stony expression that she looks at Djinni, one of the few that she can muster herself to consider a friend. ”The stallions will not be in the same ranks as us. Additionally, I will limit how many are here. They have their uses, but I will ensure we always outnumber them with the consideration of our Jungle roots. The few strong enough to remain here will be put to use, but not as slaves.” Here, she glances at Simeon, Bowie, and lastly, Stillwater. They will remain here; this is their home. They will have their positions and purposes in Nerine. ”Stillwater isn’t quite so bad, Djinni,” a shadowed grin shatters her placid expression for the first time since the group congregated, but it flickers away quickly.
”We don’t have a large number, obviously, so we don’t need lists of ranks that can’t be filled. We will still have divisions, but condensed. Anyone that wants to join us will have to prove themselves with a fairly minor task.” Complete a battle to be in the army, partake in a lesson or outing to be in diplomacy. Everything is being chiseled out of Nayl’s brain, but she is still mulling it all over and still trying to fully decide how she will construct their home now. They’ve become lazy and stagnant: this, they can all agree on.
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