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The shadows lengthened. The darkness was thick. The trees grew heavy here, thriving in the hazy air, but they weren’t benign things. They loomed far above, grasping for imaginary prey, leering at the passing mares, challenging and foreboding with their black bark and the sharp, knife-like leaves. Circe lifted her gaze from time to time, looking to and fro, a certain type of paranoia growing in the pit of her stomach. There wasn’t enough evidence to suspect the roan Lakota would be eager to lead Circe to an ambush; they had traveled far indeed, traversing many acres, miles, pastures and all sorts of hilly landscape. There was supple time for Lakota to lash out at Circe, but she did not. The gauntlet had not been thrown, and why should it? What did Circe have that Lakota coveted? I am nothing but a refugee, Circe thought with black humor, a refugee fleeing the flames of chaos. There was naught to her name but the broken shell of honor that kept her head held high and the shattered remains of the bogus façade of brotherhood. It was a wound that refused to heal; it would fester for some time longer, itching and leaking heartbroken puss until it finally hardened into the scab of resolution. It was a day far into the future, but Circe looked forward to it eagerly. She hated this incessant smarting and pain; she did desire her past to melt away behind the dense shadows of this forest.
Though Circe allowed herself to observe the forest sprawling around her, she made sure to keep in step with the Poisoner, following her trail attentively and keeping up with the roan’s pace. This was a welcome diversion from the pain; being guided through the twists and foothills of this strange ghost-land was indeed a rather intriguing pastime. The presence of this quite, intense mare with the aptitude for efficiency was also soothing; it was rather nostalgic in nature, as flashbacks came to Circe of her older comrades as they weaved through the dense swampland, plotting their next escapade with fiendish grins. What probably comforted Circe most of all, however, was the newest horizon looming in the future. Circe could see a possibility there; a chance to become one of a unit again, to belong. A place where she could be used as she desired; a place that wouldn’t abandon her like a broken tool left in the shed…Circe’s introspection was cut abruptly cut short as the roan before her stopped in her tracks, gazing down into a clear, vibrant forest pool. Circe watched Lakota for a moment, before taking tentative steps forward and peering into the pool herself. What she saw stunned her. Blood? She thought with perplexed eyes; then she watched how the light played upon the translucence of the water, and how it bounced off the brilliance of the crimson stones that lay at the bottom of the pool. She gave a quite chuckle as this realization hit her; strange thoughts and assumptions had entered her mind. What an appropriate baptism, she mused, a baptism in blood.
*“…You will respect my mistress when she comes, as if she is a leader of any
herd. Her decision will likely grant you into our family. I would like that.”*
Circe kept her head bowed and an ear attentively cocked to the side as Lakota gave her proclamations, nodding slightly at every point she made. It was to be expected; Circe was sure that she would have to gain the approval of the chieftainess, whoever she might be. However, Circe raised her head a little at Lakota’s revelation. She looked at Lakota, truly peering at the roan instead of just sparing a passing glance; she already approved of Circe? The sorceress was glad that she had made a good impression, and it only fueled her desire to prove herself to this Grey—although, truthfully, it also made Circe a tad trepidatious, a tiny worry starting to gnaw in the innermost corners of her breast. She knew her worth; but would it be enough? As a nervous twitch, she crossed her right foreleg over her left, scratching her shin a couple of times before righting her legs once more. She would be judged in due time; there was no use in worrying about the outcome.
She did, however, turn her eyes back to the bloody pool, gazing within its depths—and she also responded to Lakota. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice filled with the humility and appreciation she truly felt, “I will strive to never fail you, Poisoner.”
~~~~~
"Destroy the Peacock and Her Legacy"
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Swallow Up Your Color- Become Grey [Circe, Ktulu]
