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Doubtful, he says to her, and Circe could definitely hear it--the derision in his voice.
He was much too close to her; the feeling of his breath upon her was a repulsive thing, and if Circe deigned to imagine it, the shadowmere could even feel the vibrations of heat and warmth that emanated from his mortal flesh. She wanted no piece of him; already he was proving to be very much a vexing, pigheaded obstacle, and she wouldn’t tolerate his invasion of her space. His face came close to her—in a fit of instinctual self-preservation, Circe’s ears glued themselves to her skull, and she lashed out with unsheathed fangs; she snapped at him, willing to sink her teeth into the bridge of his absurd, irritating face. Her jaws closed upon nothing but frozen air, however. The white devil was gone, vanished, among a white sheet of winter that had decided to come early.
The shadowmere could do no more than blink rapidly for several moments, such was her confusion. The sun was piercing, gentle, mercurial—but it was there, nonetheless. They had been standing in the bosom of Tallsun, with all its heat-waves and summer rains and humid, sticky winds. Now the sorceress stood in the belly of a snowstorm, her joints becoming refreshed, then rapidly chilled; her tail writhed behind her in her dismay, whipping the air and slapping the ground with unbound fury. She moved not a muscle, however; she would not loose herself in this Enchanted Blizzard of Foolishness.
For it was enchanted—quite possibly by the white brute who infringed upon Circe’s person. No, there was no possibility. There was only fact.
“I thought the Grey did not house cowards,” she spat into the snow, swallowing frozen tears of ice as she spoke, the chill of the air tightening her throat passed her husky shout, “and I’m obviously mistaken. What is your quarrel with me, brother? Face me openly; stop hiding within the skirts of your black magic!” As she spoke, limbs and branches crackled and snapped with explosive reports, falling to the ground from their perches; in her fury, Circe willed the Earth Force to grab upon these things and rip them to ground.
Was this a test for shadowmere? Was this white menace sent to new recruits to test their mettle, using his annoying manner to push and prod and instigate the new ones into rage? Was he even a part of the Grey? Circe figured as much—he certainly smelled of kin—but his behavior was lost on her, and she could not pinpoint his desire with her.
What did he want?
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