Hoshor Plains Hunting Horns

As the crone stood by, her eyes only left the fray long enough to watch Tomahawk slink away. Good, she thought with her lips drawn into a terse line. Her turned her gaze back to the worthy hunters, the true-blooded Dotharan, as they dove for the bison's head.

It wasn't something the former Khaleesi would ever have done, but it worked. They were lucky. The powerful animal could easily have trampled any of them for being foolish enough to get in front of it, but the Khal and his brother, both known to Laqikki, were able to subdue it before any harm was done. They fell upon it, with the Khal taking the first meat as was his right. If a Khal could not exercise his power, he was no Khal at all, and Rakharo was doing well with that at least.

The elder paced closer, knowing her place was to eat after the warriors had their fill. As a Dosh Khaleen, she could exercise her own power, but it was not her place here. She had come to assist, not to behave as though she was supreme. The Dosh Khaleen were, of course, as far as the crones were willing to admit, but that didn't mean much here.

When she approached them, though, it was with her head held high and her sagely eyes narrowed, not out of defiance but out of habit. She was once a great Khaleesi and was now a sacred crone, and so her ego had not disappeared with age, but grown. Her tail, however, remained down where it belonged.