Even if Osiris did not recall her face, her name, or anything about her, at least his little dragon did. She smiled at the black's warm chirp of welcome, enjoying the sound of her named slurred in his dragon-speech. Dipping her head in return to Osiris's curt nod, she inquired after him: "I trust you've been well?" What else was there to say? Thank you. Thank you for saving my life...
For a fleeting, selfish moment, she wished they were alone. But would that truly make it any easier? No, no it wouldn't. Three or one hundred for company, it didn't matter; those two simple words would stick in her throat all the same, choking on the pride she could not swallow. She looked away, ashamed.
When would Itzal begin speaking? Not that they would have much to say to each other, of course, but the idea was still intriguing. What would Itzal have to say to her that he could not through their bond of empathy? She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. From the sea of bitterness that was his conscience, she already knew he did not prefer her company and viewed her as more of a servant than a guardian. Suddenly, she was quite thankful he did not yet have a voice. She could already hear it in her mind...a snide little voice saying "I have a thorn in my paw, butler, and I require your transportation services immediately" or "I find that thy hair is a most suitable throw rug. This pleases me greatly, butler."
He must have known what she was thinking because he grinned savagely at her in a silent snarl of laughter and his fangs glimmered faintly in the dark. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the emotions he channeled to her. Boredom, mostly, aside from the strange fascination he held for the little black dragon. Possessive, even. She frowned inwardly. Already, she was seeing shades of herself in Itzal—qualities that she despised. So he had already grown tired of staring at the other zoo animals gathered, had he? Well, she had business to attend to. She shooed him away with a swish of her flaxen tail. He growled under his breath and slunk away through the trees until even the darkness swallowed the venomous gleam of his icy violet eyes. With their connection severed for the moment, she breathed a sigh of relief. She could think. Itzal had a tendency to influence her personality, her thoughts, and even sometimes, her actions, as if his mind was both diseased and contagious. The thought made her uncomfortable, and she tried not to think about it.
Osiris's voice rumbled from his cavernous chest, and the sound was like the deep thrum of distant thunder. Electricity crackled between the three—the wolf, the tiger, and the bird. Was a storm on the horizon? At Osiris's reply regarding the gall of idiots she smiled wryly, though he would not see. His glittering golden eyes were fixed with unwavering intensity on Bellona. Yseulte was distinctly reminded of a predator hunting his prey, but gauging by the prowess of the proud woman, it would not be an easy hunt.
"A formidable foe, indeed," she agreed, regarding Bellona with a cool gaze as the exotic mare explained she was a cuauhtli—a warrior. "I do believe you've met your match, Osiris. She gave him a sly glance, but inwardly, she was conflicted. As Yseulte valued Osiris's jduge of character, she did not particularly like how Bellona had managed to get under Osiris's skin so quickly, but then again, she could see how such a brash, bold personality could conflict and contrast starkly to his own. No matter, she greatly admired the woman's fearless nature and the way she was quick to meet a challenge. A fearless warrior could make a foolish one, but it could just as well make an unstoppable one.
And Yseulte needed such a warrior by her side, desperately so.
The polite tiger, on the other hand, tolerated Itzal's insufferable staring. When the hybrid grinned, fangs glittered in the darkness. What she would give to have a pair of those! Then she wouldn't require Osiris 's damsel rescuing and wolf-whispering services every damn time she got in a bind; she would simply tear out her enemy's throat and enjoy doing so. It sounded delightfully morbid. "Peacock or not, what our striped friend means to say is that you are most striking." Perhaps that statement would manage to soothe one ruffled feather.
The electricity that once crackled between bird and wolf gradually faded to a static buzz, and Yseulte was pleased to note that Bellona was quick to make amends with the wolf hybrid by sparring with a light-hearted weapon that both parties could wield equally—sarcasm. The proud mare did not seek the wolf's approval, by any means, but she was willing to compromise when necessary. That was well—Yseulte did not need some blockhead warrior taking offense at every slight and beating the brains out of every horse that dare utter such offenses.
So Osiris hailed from the Foothills, did he? She had been quick to condemn the wolf hybrid as an outcast, to forever wander the wilds alone while saving the occasional damsel in distress. You are cruel, Yseulte, too cruel by half. She was suddenly ashamed once more. Why should Osiris be denied the right of a family and a home simply because he was different? Osiris was no monster--she ought to know. Real monsters did not appear as wolves but possessed divine faces and the voice of a thousand angels.
When Tingal and Bellona both inquired about the Grey, Yseulte leaped at the opportunity. Mauja the silvertongue (oh, how she simply abhorred the man and his fabulous hair!) had been quick to steal away her last recruit and she was not about to stand idly by and let the same happen again. She hoped Osiris wouldn't mind terribly.
"I do not know much concerning the Grey, my fierce cuauhtli, I shall leave that to Osiris. I do, however, just so happen to be an expert concerning the Valkyries." She was aware that the name would mean nothing to Bellona, and so she pressed on. "We are a free people, roving wherever the wind might take us. We do not bow to the ruling kingdoms, nor do we yield to men or keep their company." She gave Tingal and Osiris a brief glance, neither contemptuous nor apologetic. They could make what they like of the Valkyries' existence, or they could ignore it completely. She cared not. "Most importantly, we are sisters. We put personal desires aside and our nation before us. Our oaths to our sisters and to the Valkyrie nation are honored until death. Desertion, in return, is honorable by death."
She finished softly, allowing that uncomfortable statement to curdle in the air like milk. Yseulte refused to sugarcoat the truth to make the Valkyries sound like an appealing fancy tea party club or a girls' night out. After all, she did not seek fashionable, high born ladies who were more apt to hold their pinkies in the air when they sipped their tea and turn up their nose at dirt, rather than wield a weapon and wrestle in the mud.
No, Yseulte did not seek such women.
She sought cuauhtlis. |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
