a thousand teeth and yours among them; straia

[weed]

she is the lamb; he is the slaughter

Politics did not hold much appeal to Weed. He simply did not appreciate the complexities of them; they were slow-moving and sluggish and too often wrapped with the false smiles of politicians. It had been one of the many reasons that he had ultimately abandoned the Valley although he would be a fool to say that the kingdom did not continue to call to him in its own way. He had led the Peace Caste and had grown weary of diplomatic trips where he could not say what was on his mind; he had grown weary of having to constantly smile politely and say what was expected of him to keep the peace between lands.

So, no, he did no like politics overly much. He preferred chaos. He preferred destruction.
If he was being honest, he preferred Straia—although that goes unsaid.

“So turn them against one another. I began rumors there, but the sister I told does not seem to have done much with them—she may have, as Amazons seem to do, disappeared.” His grin widens slightly, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I can always return to finish the job, or we can simply pick a more obvious way to begin the fissure.” He pauses, thinking, mulling over their options. “Do the Tundra and Amazons still exchange children? Perhaps we can…intervene. Take their colts and ensure no fillies are sent in return. I would be happy to relay the message that the exchange is no longer acceptable to the brotherhood.”

Another pause, “Or perhaps we simply send our version of Tundra men to the Amazons and take some of the children by force.” He shrugs his elegant shoulders. “Regardless of what we do, we will be able to break the trust between them, and distrust is the beginning of something very beautiful to me.”

WEED

© oscar keys