Uproarious cheering filled the cramped space, every nook and cranny vibrating with the voices of spectators as they jeered and whooped. The very ceiling above them, the ground for those not aware of the chasms and tunnels twisting and winding beneath the Day Court, was humming with the tension and excitement that thrummed through each and every horse standing in the dirt. A rough circle had been marked out with rocks, misshapen and stained with blood. Hoof prints had churned up the sand within- skids and piles where horses had stood or fallen.

Within the circle stood two opponents. One, a large chestnut stallion with a scar across one side of his face and a pair of sharp fangs descending from between his lips, stamped his hooves and preened to the crowd, raising their ire and thirst for violence. The other, a smaller mare laced in scars, watched with an imperceptible smile.

The White Lion they called her- for the ferocity with which she fought and the pale colour of her fur. It was not far off the title she’d earned in Alanaris- the White Wolf. Each combatant was dubbed with a title if they chose not to reveal their name, and Castalla rather appreciated the anonymity of it all. It felt as though she were a snake shedding her skin, or a demon letting the beast loose. Snapped were the chains that tethered her to humanity, that locked up the wild savagery smouldering like a bushfire within her soul.

Calmly Castalla closed her eyes, relaxing her body with a steadying breath and bowing her head. Slowly the cheering faded into the background until it was just the beat of her opponent’s heart and the air leaving his nares that permeated her enhanced hearing. The stallion, somewhat perplexed for his part, approached her cautiously- smart enough to see the scars and hear the title and know she was worth the precaution. The White Wolf felt his every hoof-fall in the sand, tasted his excitement and anticipation upon her tongue. She didn’t need her eyes to see, not when she’d been trained to fight blind. Castalla was in her element, miring within her own exhilaration, the bloodlust rife within her heart. Should she make this one quick? The first time she’d fought here it had been over in a matter of seconds and the silence had been so thick she could have stabbed with her dagger. Drawing it out might lull her opponent into a false sense of hope, belief that he might stand a chance. There was a darker side of Castalla that enjoyed it, relished the shock and surprise when she triumphed against the odds.

The stallion didn’t want to wait. His intake of breath before launching himself was audible to her, the pause in his step as he shifted his weight to his back legs in preparation. In the same split second her eyes snapped open, shockingly blue and filled with fierce concentration. As sudden as a viper striking she slipped beneath his outstretched mouth and grabbed his neck between her teeth, lashing out with a well-aimed kick to his left foreleg. Taken aback and entirely unprepared, the stallion stumbled and Castalla used the force of his movement to drag him to the ground, pressing one hoof to his neck and smiling a wolf’s smile. Quick it was. She’d seen horses killed during these fights but it showed the ability and restraint of a warrior to keep control. The howls and shouts of victory resumed once more as betting slips were passed around and money changed hooves. With a soft push on his neck, the Wolf released the stallion, eyeing her teeth marks in his neck just quickly enough to ascertain that she’s only barely broken the skin.

A smug smirk played across her lips as she stepped over the ring of stones and melted into the crowd, receiving pats on the back and looks of trepidation as she wove between them.

”I call fraud”. With the accusation hurled into the crowd- above the jeering, above the chanting, Castalla paused mid-step and snaps her head up straight. One ear twitches, twists, seeking out the words spat from a maddened tongue. “Ha!” She barks a laugh, a smile curling across pale lips as she turns around to face her accuser, a predator in the skin of a prey. Only there is no denying that she is a predator when you look upon her form. Though be it not evident from the cream coat, the slender body and long blonde hair. No, her ferocity is buried in those icy blue eyes, slumbering in the precision of her movements as though held at bay by silken chains. She fixes the man with a look that had sent so many running. But a shadow intervenes, stepping across her line of site. Not a shadow- a stallion. Carved from darkness and onyx, crowed in blackened spikes with only pale brindling and pinky scars interrupting the ebony smooth. She cocks a brow with mild incredulity, tipping her head to one side in a manner that can only be described as wolf-like.

Were she another woman, a lesser woman, she might smile serenely or shyly at the man’s intervention. She might preen at his masculinity, feel a flush of warmth and bat her eyelids. But Castalla was not that kind of woman. She was the kind of woman born into a world where she had to prove herself time and time again, prove that she was capable of ruling as an unmated female, prove that she was powerful despite being a woman. It had come with it a cost and that was her unwillingness to accept help, particularly from a male and most certainly not when she could deal with it on her own.

The pompous man who’d yelled out to across the crowds had melted back into the stamping hooves and raucous cheering. But, as her icy blue eyes swept the crowd, heightened by her magic, she was easily able to pick him out, the look of indignation still wrought across his features. She slipped easily among the bodies, small and unnoticed as she crept up on him. At his back she allowed her voice to permeate the noise, a dagger cutting through the cries.

“And how exactly did I commit fraud, hmm?” The stag turns around with a start, finding himself face to face with her. “Are you intending to suggest the man you bet on threw the fight, or that I somehow, magically cheated?” She releases that iron-tight grasp on her magic, allowing her teeth to extend and her eyes to become more canine as she grins dangerously. The steed backs away, pushing into a crowd he hopes will swallow him up. He fails but Castalla pays him no further mind as he sinks into the shadows the smell of fear rank across his skin. Instead she seeks out the stallion who’d cautioned the sore loser, picking out his obsidian form far more easily. He’s distanced himself from the blood-stained ring, from the hustle and bustle of those yelling and catcalling, fixated upon the equines battling it out in the ring. She paid little attention to them, noting only that the shock of her sudden and easy victory has swiftly dissipated. The crowd was a fickle one, chained to the need for entertainment.

This time she approached to be seen, forcing her way through the sea of bodies rather than slipping nimbly between them. There was much to be said of someone who could be anyone- who could play any role, acting in anyway. It was both a curse and a blessing, to hide behind the walls of a dozen different personas, to succeed in any situation by simply being what was expected, what was wanted. Yet you could lose yourself in the many faces, become so practiced at acting that nothing came naturally. She had nearly done that once- become so invested in a mission, a cover, that it took months to get herself out of the same headspace. But here undercover was redundant, even if impression were not. She could be truly anyone because no one knew who she was.

“I appreciate your effort on my behalf but really I don’t need anyone to stand up for me. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with self-important idiots on my own, thank you.” She calls out upon approach, her voice snaking across the noise. He was even bigger up close, towering many hands above her. Not that she was in the slightest bit intimidated- she’d just proved her ability to take on anyone bigger than her. Internally she can feel her wolf purring, noting how handsome his face is, how muscular his body. Were she entirely alone she might have rolled her eyes at. But she was not.