is not who you are
Castalla silently released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as a grin spread across Aspara’s face. It was an infectious smile that the Wolf couldn’t help but return. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel pleasure at her accomplishments, to be proud of her honed abilities. To feel something other than cold satisfaction at her own deadly precision.
“He… huh,” she can’t help the soft, barked laugh that leaves her lips as she brings him to mind. How could one describe a man with so many facets, who had walls behind walls and shields behind shields. “He is a very serious man and very intimidating. I’ve seen other stallions practically wet themselves beneath his gaze. But he is the strongest, fairest King my kind have had for centuries. His loyalty knows no bounds and though he must always put the kingdom first, I know he loves my mother and I more than anything else in the world.” A nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of her mouth and warmth, tinged with just a little bit of sadness, spread through her chest.
“What made you stay in Denocte rather than travel with your family?” Though they were barely acquaintances, Castalla was still curious. Their positions were slightly reversed- Castalla being the one to go out exploring while her parents remained in Alanaris, whilst Aspara had stayed and her parents left. Yet here they both were, miles and miles away from their family.
Castalla could see the awe in Aspara’s smile, the way she stared and the intensity in her eyes. The Wolf couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or worried. Each of the scars that marred Castalla’s otherwise porcelain skin told a story. Some of heroics, some of loss- and others of events so horrific the recounting of them had made seasoned war veterans ill. Those such tales were little more than black holes in her memories, events that she relieved in her nightmares no matter how many years passed. Though the tale of the claw marks on her shoulder was not a particularly gruesome one, it was perhaps one of the saddest memories she bore upon her skin.
“That,” she twists her head, indicating the fours slashes across her shoulder, “was from a wolf. My kind are able to turn into giant wolves and sometimes we get into fights.” Her story is unfinished, but she does not go on. Years of practice and training allowed her to school her features into something nonchalant, but deep down her heart ached as she recalled the truth behind the pink-grey slashes. She moves on with appropriate speed, drawing attention away from her shoulder to two long slashes across her left hind leg. “These were from a stallion who decided he wanted to challenge me for the throne because I am a female and apparently in his book that makes me unfit to rule alone.” Castalla grinned conspiratorially, her teeth slowly extending into sharp canines as her eyes lit up with glee.
She saw the admiration in the flick of Aspara’s smile, as though she couldn’t quite keep it small. And for a moment she sobered, the smile falling from her face like fresh winter snow from the skies. “You don’t want to end up like me, kid.”
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