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08-27-2013, 12:25 AM
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CIRCE The shadowmere took her time listening to the musings of the strange stallion beside her. Her body moved lightly, slender limbs carrying the muscled body of the Executioner almost soundlessly through the black underbrush. It was a peaceful night, and despite its cold Circe could detect the faint, dewy warmth that heralded springtime growth. But a certain agitation clouded her perception to this peacefulness; she wanted to get home as soon as she could, without knowing this stranger and his business within plane, it was out of the question. She allowed his inquiries to slide by her without comment, considering them each in turn; no, she didn’t want to bring him to the Foothills just yet, not until she got some background. “Who is it you are trying to find?” she asked in an easy voice, belaying the supple action of her body over the coarse forest floor. “And, for that matter, what are you called, so that you may no longer be a stranger to me?” Her eye began to run across him with a different flavor than before; whereas she was playful in the instances passed, Circe now regarded this stud with a professional gaze, assessing his qualities that might possibly fit with their own rugged lifestyle. He’s a dancer, she observed, watching the graceful way he sailed across the dark woodland grounds just as effortlessly, if not moreso, than the shadowmere did herself. He may be brittle, but there also might be mettle to behold from him. I would like to see more. The decision was made. Either she helped this fellow stray away from the path of potential danger and find his “someone”, or she brought home a new recruit for her fellow warriors to chew on—whatever the case, the shadwomere’s time was not wasted. |
