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06-20-2013, 11:37 AM
Mauja the Frostheart I'll Never See Any Side Of Heaven
The sandy mare would at least be well camouflaged in the Throat, if anything. Still, it felt strange, wrong in all levels, to bolster their numbers, but he did what he had to – another kind of sacrifice, for a different kind of victory. She seemed intent on living with trained warriors, whatever the term meant to her, and she delivered a question to the other stallion as well, dropping both his name and that of his organization. Tonka, of the Assassins. He'd heard of them in passing, some half-made report from Psyche, but they'd gone under the radar so far, at least where Mauja was concerned. Perhaps one day they would become a threat, but for now, they probably weren't, as the mare called them 'small', something Tonka had obviously told her. Well, then. Time enough to deal with it. It wouldn't surprise him if someone in the Basin already kept tabs on them. And then came a question he hadn't expected. "White stallion, do you come from Kri's herd?" Some part of him wanted to bite back sarcastically, and ask her what sort of idiot recruited for someone else, but he doubted that getting on her bad side was going to increase his chances. And so, he simply snorted and gave her Dreven's best lopsided grin. "I do," he simply said, wondering if it'd surprise her, or whyever else she had felt the need to ask. Had she asked this Tonka to state it in no uncertain terms that he was an assassin, or was this some kind of 'special treatment'? He didn't know what to think about it, and decided to not give her the opportunity to ask more about him, because frankly, he wasn't too keen on answering. Until he knew more about Tonka, he'd keep his secrets close, and the lies even closer. Instead, he had to rack up what he knew of the Throat, and its members. Azzuen, he was a warrior, and Midas seemed one, too. Kri had brought along reinforcements to the battle in the Foothills, and none had seemed particularly clumsy. "But yes, the Throat has several trained warriors," he said, silently adding myself included. "And others in training," he added for good measure, because a herd that thrived on a single generation was a dying herd. Onni, and Cassiopeia, were no warriors, but they had a function all the same, of that he was certain (even if it was just to keep the general happy).  |
