but my hair smells of war and running and running
Gods she missed her magic. This meeting would have been so much easier if she could simply read the other mare’s mind. Or detect that minute change in a creature’s scent when they lie. Not that the shifter made a habit of invading others’ privacy like that. In fact she rarely used her telepathic abilities- only in dire need would she be so invasive. Yet, did strangers here usually ask questions? Experience told the assassin that asking too many questions would raise suspicion, but she needed to know why her powers had diminished. And if they would ever return. But to blurt it straight out, to admit such a weakness went against every fibre of the femme’s being.
Nevertheless, Castalla was trained in the art of reading behaviour, the subtle flick of someone’s eyes when they lie and the nervous ticks of someone with something to hide. She got none of that from the earthen-painted mare who’s posture was clearly open to put the Wolf at ease. A warrior would not be submissive by nature, not when a fight calls to the courage in a soldier’s veins. And like Castalla, the scars wrought over the expanse of Katniss’ coat tell the story of a history fraught with battle. There was no denying that Katniss knew the bitter kiss of war.
“Thank you.” With a gracious dip of her head and a genuine smile lighting up the blue of her eyes, she thanks the taller mare. Few rarely commented on her name, perhaps because most outside of her family either called her ‘Your highness’, ‘Wolf’ or some derogative term shouldn’t be uttered before mortal ears.
“The Night Court.” She repeats, a grin playing across her lips. How apt. Most, if not all shifters, revered the Night goddess, Nysa, Queen of the Darkness. She was their patron, even if their magic did not come from her. Perhaps it was from that that mortals confused shape-shifters and werewolves, believing both to be kissed by Night. But these days, when knowledge of the Old Gods was long buried, remembered only by those blessed with immortality, few really knew why shifters were hunted like monsters. “How does your Night Court feel about strange newcomers?” A coy smile dances across her visage, sapphiric oculars gleaming playfully.
Katniss inclines her head in the direction of the hill, a soft glow lighting the rise. For a moment Castalla tipped her head to the left and considered the mare’s offer, before skipping gracefully forward with a push of her hind legs, keeping pace with Katniss easily. As she crested the hill and laid eyes upon the kingdom spread below, the Wolf couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp f admiration. Beneath the night’s gaze the town was lit up by a thousand flickering candles, each building glowing in the darkness. A flicker of bittersweet nostalgia alit in her chest; it reminded her of the caverns of Nightfall where buildings like this were nestled among moonlit caves. The guarded secret of her father’s kingdom. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, still gazing out across the Court, eyes reflecting the orange hues. “Is there much magic here in Novus?” A lame question as questions go but Castalla needed answers.
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