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Will anyone join me? said the mare with the virgin hide.
Circe heard the call, heard the summons for the warriors and citizens of the Grey; her shadowy blood boiled at the sound of it, her eyes sparking with some long-subdued passion that laid tucked away in the bowels of her being. Like the gong of a great grandfather clock, Circe’s hooves fell with a providence that transcended their inherent meaning. The hour was struck in the shadowmere’s favor; she had been waiting far too long for this. It was her moment to shine.
It was her time.
Circe came upon the white mare, the leader she knew only in hearsay as Ophelia, one of the Sisters of power. Azure eyes gazed around the proceedings, taking stock of those present; a starry-pelted Pegasus and a large, hulking brute Circe remembered seeing once before. And, of course, there did stand the interloper on their lands—a mouthy, interestingly bold fool of a stallion, following behind the white misteress as a dog might follow its master. Circe’s gaze remained impassive, though her ears flicked back and forth irritably as his taunts and nasty words flowed in her direction.
*“Just because my group will be known does not mean that they will know when or where we will be coming from. You are a fool. Everyone in your herd is a fool also. Taking me was stupid. Even a foal is smarter than you. I will not tell you anything.”*
Circe said not a word to him—didn’t feel as though vocal reciprocation was warranted for this scum who dared call himself an assassin. Instead, Circe rose up slightly on her back hocks, tossing her head and giving a loud, angry snort; her forehooves struck out exactly one time in the air, towards the brash failure of an assassin. She was nowhere close enough to make contact with him—no, it was a merely a customary sort of gesture. It was her way of saying he accepted the brutes challenge with open arms and would react accordingly. For he did challenge them just now; he made it plain that him and his kin meant ill toward the Grey, and Circe would not allow this challenge to go unanswered. With deliberate slowness, Circe lowered herself to the ground, her eyes boring into the interloper. You’ve brought this upon yourself, she growled in her mind, eyes swimming with that controlled sort of rage that was attributed to war, and now it will surely be finished. You should have just kept your head down and quite, whelp.
“I will follow,” Circe said, her sentence terse yet containing elements of respect as her eyes flicked to the Fair Lady. Then Circe gazed toward the Dauntless, that grey pillar of steely will, somehow sensing without actually knowing that he was her superior in arms, her limbs taut and ready to bolt at the word.
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Assassins Fall, One by One [Tonka|Foothills herd meeting]
