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Circe listened to Lakota’s words and watched her; watched how the mare’s granite exterior didn’t seem to react to what was said to her and what was being said. Even her tone was cool and monotone in its own way, though Circe knew better than to assume that Lakota didn’t have anything going on underneath the skin. What business of Circe’s was it for her to must know what was going through the shrouded mask of the unacquainted? It was no true right that Circe had to the information Lakota gave to her, though the roan mare certainly delivered on her promise of an answer. She may be stark, but Circe appreciated the mare’s forwardness. It got a lot done.
*“A group of mercenaries and spies that fight for those who cannot, working in the middle for peace that cannot be won through kind words.”*
As the description of this place fell upon Circe’s ears and shoulders, and especially as she learned of the Grey and its function of the world, a little smattering of irony fell from the sky and settled upon Circe’s spine as snow might fall on a branch. A flicker of memory passed behind Circe’s eyes of her old herd—or rather posse , as this term might be more appropriate for the vagabonds she knew them to be. She remembered the chaos they sewed on the countryside, wreaking havoc, destroying the hollows that the weak and old lived in, bullying herds of frightened mares away from the water source and allowing them to drink from the creek again when they grew bored of their hijinks. They weren’t evil creatures, though the herds of that area would have begged to differ on that regard. Circe, however, knew the true colors of her former comrades; mares and stallions alike, misfits in their own right, though possessing their own brand of honor and humor that made their days enjoyable and fond to remember. And her mother, the White Mare of the East, the leader of them all…but the thought of that woman sent a vile, ashen taste to Circe’s tongue. How tragic, that a creature so detestable could lead a group so worthy and mischievous—and how daft they were to accept her as their leader.
Was this discovery of the Grey, a group of evident justice, a chance for atonement for Circe’s earlier actions in the group? Was it fate’s way of helping Circe wash herself entirely from her mother? She couldn’t help it; a tiny chuckle escaped her lips, amused by the twist in her life—but the tiny sense of disquiet found its way into her cackles. Would she be worthy of this band of mercenaries? Would she do them justice and hold up their honor?
“I wonder, Lakota,” Circe asked, careful in her tone but barely hesitant, wishing not to waste any more time, “If your family could chance adding another sister to their ranks? Would you stand for it?” Her voice was respectful and though she held her head high, as she normally did, her eyes were guarded with reverence in the depths of those cobalt orbs. It was no use fretting over the use of her mind and body; Circe knew herself to be useful. She would prove it. And the only way she would prove it to this…Grey was to show them, a practical demonstration of her value.
~~~~~
"Destroy the Peacock and Her Legacy"
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