I woke up like this || ALL

[Sabra]

A queen has loyal subjects. A queen has an army. A queen has power. She was not a queen. In herc heart, she always had been and always would be. She loved Sylva deeply. But her title was just that, it held no weight or purpose. Recent events made that clear. Kwartz was old enough now that he no longer needed her, and it seemed that he was the last one who had. 

Jesper loved Ischia but would choose family over kingdom. She couldn't change that. Merida did not elect to interact with the world often. She couldn't change that. Lamb... She was a wanderer at heart, and deserved more than Sabra had been able to offer. It was time. Her reign had been uneventful and vaguely pointless, and she was tired of having the life sucked out of her for an ungrateful task. No more. The kingdom was as dead as the leaves beneath her feet, it had been that way a long while now. She had failed. 

Perhaps some good could come of this, however. Perhaps she could fix things just a little. 

OOC: @[Krone] @[Kromium~Karat] @[Kylin] Sabra steps down, but offers the kingdom of Sylva as a refuge for the family with whom she's struggled with in light of Brennen's mutiny, with the condition that Karat become ruler, if she wishes. If not, the kingdom is up for grabs.

[Neo]

For plot purposes I am denouncing my claim to Sylvas throne in Karats name.

[Jesper]

Jesper had buried himself into his new duties and, set out for their neighbors. However, something is awry at home and, the foul stench is enough to stop him dead in his tracks.
 
His sensitive nasal caverns attempt to shrivel; to close out the infiltrating odor. Lobes pin to poll and, icy-blue gaze narrows as nostrils wrinkle in disgust. Skull snaps upwards into the celestial dome and, weight shifts onto hind pillars to allow forelimbs to lift off the solid ground. Half-rear ends with front hooves slamming heavily into the earth. Jet-black steed turns upon his heels and, once his one-hundred and eighty degree turn is complete, haunches engage to push Anglo-Arabian into a swift gallop. Footfalls pound the terrain with a heft that the light-boned equine did not know he possessed.
 
The summer day warms rapidly into a smothering, sweltering heat. The daystar, about to reach its peak, bathes Beqanna in a balmy glow. Pace soon causes a glisten of perspiration to form in the folds of male’s shoulders, elbows, flanks and, between buttocks. Raven bronc presses on until the opal-hue of Sabra comes into focus. Front legs brace as hindlimbs act as an anchor to slide Jesper into a halt. Expression of anger morphs into one of concern. She was clearly defeated. Poll lowers in a show of respect for his former Queen’s decision.
 
And, all at once, his world came crashing down all over again. He could feel uncertainty replacing his recent confidence. Light blue gaze lose their gloss as a haze settles over his thoughts. Of course, Sabra did not make him whole. She did, however, grant him a place and purpose to devote himself to. He did not feel he had the experience to qualify for her Hellhound but, he was willing to put in the hours to become what Sylva needed. Alas, none of that mattered now.
 
Inner musings cloud cranium for a few hours. Poll shakes vigorously as if Jesper is trying to physically come out of his stupor. When his focus is clear, the stallion becomes aware that he is alone and, the daystar was well into its descent towards the horizon. With the fading light and, the approach of dusk, black stallion detects the lurking evil that befalls Sylva, all around him. Nostrils wrinkle, out of irritation this time, and right hoof lifts off the ground and, stamps back down. He would not – could not – stand for evil. Derisive snort escapes nares before male thinks through his options. I could take this evil on – head-on. Tackle it before it gets a firm root here. The prospect of returning to the battlegrounds stirs his pulse and, heart strums faster inside its cavity. Limbs shift anxiously as this newfound energy spreads to his extremities. Respiration rate increases and, muscular sinew contracts, ready to spring beast into motion.
 
Then, Jesper recalls his last visit to the battlefield. He was disappointed – not in the result but, in himself – for thinking he could prove himself. He entered as a homeless nobody with nothing to lose. And, that right there was his mistake. He needed something to fight for. With that, the ebony equine sets out once more. Hindquarters engage to push limbs into an easy jog and, stallion aligns himself perpendicular to the sun’s setting track to head north. The edge of the Sylvan forest is marked by an abrupt scarcity of trees and, as the charcoal male nears it, he draws to a halt. He pauses to look back into the now foreign kingdom. Labrums thin into a frown as features reveal a solemn expression. I will come back to save you. With this silent vow, neck straightens to bring cranium facing forwards. Purposeful march carries Jesper over the border and, into the coastal most plains of Loess.