and you came crashing - any

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The dappled Andalusian quirked upon Scorch's arrival, smirking a greeting that even the self-proclaimed rat of a woman couldn't resist smirking back at. Rivalry was good for Beqanna, it left everyone trying harder and working to make themselves the best - in turn making the land itself more alive and rejuvenated. Despite how the competition did make her a little irritable, the mare would take this over the stagnation that she'd found upon her return to life from the world of the dead not so many years ago.

"I'll make a point of traveling to Loess then just to run into you again, sir King," came her quipped response, friendlier than perhaps she'd expected herself to be or sound. But their rivalry was not the center of attention in this exchange, and so Scorch turned her eyes and ears towards the newcomer, giving her the benefit of the doubt as a single blade of grass still hung to her whiskered bottom lip.

She looked baffled, or perhaps wonderous; Scorch caught the way her eyes roamed across the worn paths of her scars and smiled a little. Ah, that would never get old. A lifetime of looking like half-cooked meat would get you this reaction from time to time. After a moment of silence in wake of Scorch's inquiry, the black appaloosa offered a stuttered reassurance, though her hooves moved as if to dislodge herself from this uncomfortable social situation.

Arthas then went on to answer her final question, with a glance to Scorch to assure that he'd be allowed to speak - and of course, she bent her head to encourage him to do so. No point in wasting time trying to talk over each other; then their company really would back up far enough to never be found again, and that'd be pretty, well, dumb of them to do. As the king made his explanation, Scorch's eyes went again to the newcomer, admiring her colouring, and the way her eyes - brighter than they were fearful - seemed not to miss a thing that happened.

"A kingdom is like a herd, to help you understand," Scorch continued in her brusque, charred voice, figuring that this doe of a mare wouldn't understand their terminology. "Except that the leader can be male or female, and there are castes within the kingdom that go beyond the duties of a herd mare." One mightn't have the hardest time which caste Scorch belonged in by body: war. But by tongue? Diplomacy; a master of all trades.

"I hail from the sisterhood kingdom of Nerine," she said at last, looking pointedly at Arthas, who had yet to know her allegiance - though for a king, he ought to have known the names of his rivals. At least the important ones; but he's new to this. She shifted her gaze back to the black one. "We are at the northernmost coast of Beqanna."

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

@[traton]