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The tiny puddle was surely going to die soon; the sun blazed triumphantly above, and soon Circe figured the boundaries would shrink into nothingness, becoming nourishment for the thirsty earth below. The puddle was an icon for Circe’s reflection up on her mother; it was a testament that she actually contemplated shedding tears for the harlot. It was mocking her with the taunt that she still had some sort of emotion left somewhere within the depths of her breast, and it angered the mare indeed. With a heavy snort, Circe reached forward suddenly with a forehoof, dragging dirt and dust into the puddle, mixing it into a lumpy goop and effectively ending the existence of the offending puddle. She gave another snort, but this one was inclined toward amusement; how ridiculous it was for her to be so offended by a mere puddle. She would need to watch that temper of hers.
It was only then that Circe allowed her eyes to find the new arrival that had made her presence known. Maliciousness continued to stir within Circe’s eyes, but it wasn’t provoked by the mare; with a deep breath, Circe willed the tension in her muscles to ease a little bit as she received the company. This mare had nothing to do with her hang-ups and she didn’t deserve to be affected by them. Circe cocked an ear, listening to the mare’s silken outpouring. Lost or searching? Circe sighed softly, considering how best to answer the mare. It felt as though the droplet from before still clung to her horn; Circe knew that it’d be impossible to shake the sensation.
“Both,” she said suddenly, blunt in her response, “Lost from a good cause of abandoned comrades. Searching for the same. I’m done with others using me and leaving me for trash.” It was hard to keep the bite and venom out of her voice. Had she fangs, Circe would have bared them; such was the heat of her passion. “I’m looking for a place worthy of all of me.”
*"Lakota, Poisoner of the Grey. You are?*
Short and to the point. Understandable. Best not to waste the mare’s time; she may have other business to attend to. “I am Circe, sorceress of my old band,” she said, the bitter gall evident once more in her voice. “Tell me, ma’am; what is this place that I have stumbled upon?” She paused, considering Lakota’s title; Poisoner of the Grey. Was that a herd, and was she the canker that was bestowed upon their enemies? What was the purpose of a Poisoner. Circe chanced another question. “What…is the Grey?” she asked, lifting her head a little in her curiosity. Her muscles tensed again, but ever so slightly; she didn’t know if she were treading upon dangerous waters. She’d know soon enough.
~~~~~
"Destroy the Peacock and Her Legacy"
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