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This itch in Circe’s side was beginning to become bothersome; the sorceress continued her pacing through the strange hills of her supposed “home”, her hooves discovering the tender textures of the fertile land, feeling every bump and valley as she carried her smoky form over the uneven terrain. Surely there should have been some modicum of calm and tranquility after the raging storm that was the invasion; surely Circe should feel at peace with herself, finally settling into the bosom of a respectable clan.
But she wasn’t.
The sorceress felt….wasted. Circe held a position of power, yet had no inkling of how to use it; she knew she must prove her mettle, yet her azure eyes could see no path to carry her forward. It was a deplorable, sinking feeling that strangled the pit of her stomach; a sour taste coated the frosted fae’s tongue. With every hoof-beat, her mind continued to whirl with memories and worries, impatience and anxiety, old angers and new, emerging passions. Every muscle was tensed, as though readying the mare to lash out at an imaginary enemy; it felt as though Circe was stuck in a rut of waiting for some grand battle of the fates-- and she did hate it. The sorceress was tired of waiting.
Supposed she imagined it—but Circe raised her head a mite higher, catching a rather peculiar scent in the air. When she first came here, the entire region smelled like a stranger’s home, filled with all sorts of odors that were inevitably tied to the stories of lives lived in this fertile crescent. The time spent here allowed Circe to become accustomed to the aroma of the Hills, as well as the scents of her unacquainted herd-fellows. It was such that, as she paced ‘twixt the valleys with a proud, high kneed gait, it was easy for her to discern that this was truly different from what she was used to detecting. Yet there was still traces of these aromatic grasses present within the scent…Perhaps it belonged to a stray who wished to remain in their original homeland?
The disquiet Circe felt in her limbs refused to allow her to ignore the strange scent; she followed her hooves as they swiftly lead her to the strange scent, and perhaps the stranger who possessed it. Though she only moved in a trot, the sorceress’s hooves flew in her haste—her eagerness—to intercept this stranger. As she came closer, Circe realized that there was another scent present; though this time she was able to discern them to be a member of her new family. Surely someone she hadn’t been able to meet yet, though a member nonetheless.
*”Have you decided to stay on these lands as a rogue, unwelcomed; or, have you been invited by the new authority?”*
As she came upon the clearing where the well-built brute of a stallion and the magenta-eyed nymphette stood conversing, the notion came to Circe that she may not be required to be present for this confrontation. The idea irritated the sorceress further; she was deeply unhappy with her idleness. However, she also didn’t mean to impede upon the authority of others or push her way into unwanted regard. She forced the energies within her limbs to quiet. “I apologize,” she said with sincerity, her words flowing from her mouth as might the pure, cooling waters of a crystalline brook pour and wash over smooth, granite rocks, “I meant not to intrude upon something private. I merely wished to patrol the borders of this, our new home.” She looked to the large stud with the steely disposition—the one who possessed the scent of her family. “Would you have me leave, brother?” Circe asked, testing the boundaries of her acceptance; would the brute consider her truly a member of the Grey? Perhaps, one day, she would need to shake some forbidden tree to garner something note-worthy.
[OOC: Hope you don't mind me plopping Circe in here :P ]
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