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| CIRCE It seemed fate intended for the shadowmere to come upon that place on that day. The ludicrous words were enough to pique her interest, of course—but the overwhelming cloud of outsider wafted to the patrolling mare, and she was honor bound to pursue it and chase it away. On a lighter note, the shadowmere was met with interesting monologue on her way to intercept a possible threat: *“Where has my princess gone? Your Knight is here! Come out and play princess!”* The shadowmere did not stop her approach or slow her movement in the slightest—but her brow did cock as she listened to these shamelessly honeyed tones. What….? *“Darling oh darling! I brought you flowers, will you swoon for everyone to see? Won’t you welcome me home with a kiss?”* ….the hell? By the time Circe came upon the scene, the golden queen of subterfuge Phaedra had already come to confront the rather flamboyant fellow who dared intrude upon their borders. Circe tensed her body, her eyes settled on both Phaedra and the stranger in case her herdmate needed back up from the threat….but then….her gaze turned to something much more confused, much less amused, as the Pegasus mare started a deplorably lovesick outcry of her own. Circe bore her eyes into her herd mate, the little patience she possessed wearing thin; her eyebrow remained cocked, a wordless demand for an explanation for the presence of this stud who smelled of cold. Was he of the Basin? What business did he require of the Grey? Was Circe’s sinew needed for this confrontation? It felt as though Circe would be trapped there, bound by her duty to watch this stranger, while the sickening tittering of lovebirds sprinkled about her, seemingly causing the air to glitter and her insides to roil nauseously. When yet another stranger—incredibly—decided to jump the border, waltz right into the territory, and ask directions for a simpleton, Circe was almost glad for the chance to vent her frustration and repulsion on someone who clearly deserved some sort of wrath. *"Excuse me lovebirds, could either of you direct me to the Veins?"* “South,” Circe replied, her voice low and dangerous, a growl from between her lips. She advanced on him, coming to stand before the tiny stallion and tower over him; her head was held low, her horn held at the ready to pierce and tear and punish for such a foolhardy display of ignorance. As her eyes coldly began assessing this intruder, Circe began to feel a disgusted sort of dislike for this stallion’s puny frame, which only added to her sense of irritation. “Leave. Now.” It was a threat, a warning, and an admonishment rolled into one; the sorceress lashed her tail, a whip cracking in the mild springtime air. This was his only warning before the sorceress would strike. To put it bluntly, she was not fucking around today. |
