Faith is the bird that feels the light: Scorch

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

”The hairless-one.” You use the term as though poor old Scorchie’s baldness has forever defected her from average treatment! True, she has not sparred in far too long (considering that monarchs cannot be challenged and all) but she hasn’t been Khaleesi for that long.

Regardless, Scorch squeals at her friend’s haughty reaction, lunging forwards as Malka retreats with a loud click of her bladed teeth. It would be no good to actually harm the poor haired-one!

As planned, however, Scorch steps back and begins her reprimanding. Malka, ever the innocent one, rolls her shoulders in the horse-variant of a shrug. Scorch’s smile wanes as the mare speaks, though her ears remain tipped forward, a gesture which few receive.

“I never said I was surprised,” She chuckled, the low sound reverberating in the large clearing. “But I’m glad the Jungle has got you on a leash. There’ll come a day when I actually need you to do something besides listen to me vent.” Scorch says this lightly, for she is not attempting to undermine how valuable the quetzal-shifting mare is to her. If Malka didn’t resurface every so often, Scorch would likely go about as insane as she.

“But you’re here now, so let me ask your opinion on a matter of certain importance.” She pauses, eyeing Malka almost hesitantly. Her body stiffens, ears tilting back; clearly this topic is one she brings up with great reluctance. Alas, she must be ready for anything. She will not die like Echion, or become injured like Brunhild. She will have a plan. “Who should be the ‘legitimate’ Erinak, if you will.” It’s a sideways attempt at asking who to name the next Khaleesi, but Scorch is proud. She cannot just yet admit to the knowledge of her own failing, even if that failing comes in a future which not one of the Sisters can imagine.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle