Graciously, Castalla dips her head. “You and yours have nothing to fear from me. I do not come here to cause pain or trouble.” Castalla knew enough kings, enough kingdoms, to understand that one would not be so welcoming as this only to abuse its people. Assassin she may be by trade, she was a warrior by nature and sought to defend the innocent and protect the good. She was also a princess, drilled in courtly intrigue from the moment she could speak. Though she rather disliked the games of sharp words and poisoned looks, she understood the value of diplomacy and talks and knew how to wield her tongue as well as any weapon. No, indeed, they had nothing to fear from the Wolf.
Blue eyes alight with lantern flame, reflecting the glimmer of the fires as they lit the moon-bathed city. The city is alive with movement, its citizens busy despite the darkness overhead and Castalla can’t help the smile that spread across her lips. To live in a place like this must be lovely. Where everyone knows everyone, where you can wander outside your door and be greeted by smiling faces. It had been a long time since Castalla had seen such a place. The cave-haven of Nightfall was much like this, but Castalla had withdrawn from it recently. Too many memories lurked around each corner; too many faces filled with pity upon seeing her.
Castalla easily detected the hesitant confusion with which the taller mare took her question- and why should she not? It was certainly a random question, one fathomed from the internal struggle within the Wolf that no one was privy to.
“Where I come from magic is the very air we breathe. But some are hunted for their particular magics, slaughtered for the blood in their veins.”
There is a bitterness she cannot keep from her voice, it subtly laces her undertones. There were some creatures in Alanaris that deserved the classification ‘monster’, some that hunted innocents to feast on their bodies or drink from their blood. But shapeshifters, Castalla’s people- they did not deserve it. And whilst the Crown believed they were executing the warriors, the leaders like her; in reality the miserable beings that hunted down shifters only caught the innocents. The bakers and the teachers, the farmers and blacksmiths who wanted nothing more than to live a normal life. Castalla had tried to put a stop to it, tried to end the torment by assassinating the tyrant king who began it all. But alas, despite suffering months of the cruellest torture and starvation, despite killing the malevolent King upon his own throne, the regime remained. Continued on by kings who understood not the horror they were reaping.
Castalla turns to Katniss now, fixing her with a level gaze.
“I want to know if Novus is beholden to the same cruelty.”
There is no judgement in her eyes; no anger or aggression. Instead, the oceanic depths glittered with pain, hidden to all but those who truly understand what it was to be hunted. What it was to know you had suffered immense pain to try save your people and failed nonetheless. Castalla would not, could not, live in a world where the same was done to others.
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