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It seemed a long time for the Cthulhu to make her decision—just as well, as Circe didn’t want the mare to rush headlong into such a life altering decision. Still, seconds passed as minutes, and the chill air around them began to swirl with a light flurry of the tiniest flakes of sleet. Its arrival brought Circe back to her senses somewhat; it was cold, the snowfall would pick up, and it would be in their best interest to find shelter before they became frostbitten and emergency amputation would be necessary for their survival.
The shadowmere’s head lowered slightly, an inclination of her horn, her weapon, as the nomad renounced her wandering days and accepted Circe’s offer to become comrades officially. It was a surprising relief to Circe, for she hadn’t noticed that she was holding her breath—but then she supposed it wouldn’t be in her best interest to be enemies with this mare. If tonight was any sort of indication of what Cthulhu was like in her deepest core, Circe would anticipate a desperate battle indeed between the two of them if it came to pass, and it was much better knowing there was one less adversary in the world.
Her treatment of Eytan was met with bafflement—but she couldn’t really blame Cthulhu for her incredulousness, could she? Indeed, Circe would’ve been just as perplexed by such a spectacle upon entering these blasted lands, but after recruiting a leopard of all things and being in the midst of all sorts of scaly, flying bastards of predators, it would be quite hypocritical for Circe to find anything bizarre in the greeting of superior and friend. “There are even stranger things than this stalking the land,” she advised her golden acquaintance, but the tone with which she spoke was one of empathy; she even nodded her understanding, and in the language of her body she spoke a little more: It gets downright insane in this place. I’ve seen it.
The shadowmere composed herself then, for Cthulhu had just entered a covenant and it was upon Circe’s shoulders to properly instruct her as to what sort of contract she had signed. “We are the Grey,” Circe stated simply, her eyes wandering over a little to look north where her home lie not so far away. “We are warriors, fighting for those who have not the strength or the gut to do so. Some, like me, are called to battle the moment battle calls; others trains as healers, artisans, and wise-folk, using their talents for combat when there is great need. We may fight for any herd who calls upon us--first and foremost, however, we look out for ourselves and protect ourselves from the dangers and twists of this land, for there is little a treaty can do to protect from the backstabbing of a traitor. Know this; the Grey are many things, but we are not traitors.” She paused, and her small smile acquired an ironic, bitter twist. “Some call us heartless for our willingness for combat—but in this place, it is an inevitability.”
She stopped then, appraising Cthulhu briefly for her reaction to her explaination. “I hope this covenant sounds satisfactory?” she asked, a brow raised slightly as her eyes flicked downwards towards Eytan’s earthen hide. “Have I missed something?” Circe looked to Eytan, but the question was really for her Dark Lady, wondering if she did her herd justice in her representation. She hadn’t lied, to the best of her knowledge; that was for sure.
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Hopes up high and your head down low - open
