As the juices from the sixth apple rolled across the shadowmere’s tongue—its bitter-sweet flavor filling her mouth and coating her cheeks with a savor she had come to enjoy—a voice broke and hissed through the din of the darkened meadow. Circe’s head raised sharply, ears pinned and tail lashing as she anticipated an intruder against her and her kin. Her sudden movement turned out to be a mistake indeed; Circe’s vision swam before her, the trees and the glade nothing but a hazy blur of images and colors, and when she finally laid eyes upon the dark form of the approaching stranger, the shadowmere swore there were two interlopers bearing down upon her.

There were no strangers to behold, however; as Circe blinked rapidly in an attempt to correct her vision, familiar features began to make themselves apparent; the white mane, the blazing red eyes, the blood-tipped horn, the bronze ink that etched into the powerful shoulder. The sorceress knew this mare—perhaps more intimately than some. “Con…Contulu?” she asked, her words clumsy and confused; the apples seemed to have thickened her tongue. As she said it, the shadowmere shook her head, trying to correct the idea of Ktulu and the Constrictor into a plausible train of thought. “Ktulu,” she blurted with a hint of surprise, taking a step back; her tail lashed wildly behind her, a foolish snake, attempting to balance the shadowmere’s ungainly steps. “’S been a momen’ since we’ve spoke, yes?”

In a sudden, non sequitr memory, Circe realized the impact of Ktulu’s early emboldened statement—these apples belonged to her? My ass! Circe thought viciously, taking a step towards her Dark Lady; her head weaved before her like a hypnotic serpent, taunting and dangerous as she leered at the Constrictor. “I’s here first,” she hissed passed her lumbering tongue and a hiccup, “Archibald and I. We have been here for a while, doing things. These apples are mine.” As if to prove her point, the shadowmere’s muzzled dipped down, deftly snatching a seventh and sloppily savoring it in Ktulu’s line of sight; she smacked her lips, slurping the juices with evident relish.

Something caught Circe’s eye, however; she blinked, watching Ktulu and registering something…different about the mare. Her faulty vision made it hard to pinpoint what exactly had been altered about her ex-Chieftainess—it seemed as though extra bronze glinted through the darkness of the meadow, but there was no way for Circe to properly articulate her findings. “You’re golden…er,” was all she could come up with.


@[Ktulu]



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