DO THE GODS LIGHT THIS FIRE IN OUR HEARTS
OR DOES EACH MAN'S MAD DESIRE BECOME HIS GOD?
It did not take long for the realization to dawn upon Eskander that she was no longer alone. The echo of hooves on sandstone caused her to flick an ear backward and then, as they continued, the mare turned her head in the direction of the sound. Her wings twitched irritably, wanting to expand, but stuck in the confines of the alleyway. Eskander proceeded to turn halfway, facing the silver mare more fully. Years of treacherous travel had made Eskander wary of others--the perpetual uncertainty, the paranoia--it all became useful now.
For example, her crimson eyes assessed Seraphina in one sweep. Eskander saw the fellow mare first as a delicate creature, but with more consideration, found her akin to a blade. Athletic and sharp. Silky silver, and dangerous. The movements were purposeful; the polite gesture neither overly friendly nor unkind. Eskander, however, did not respond. Her expression remained unwavering and while the candlelight glint across her metallic dapples, it did little to lighten her face. It merely caught, gleaming, in her red eyes. You look to be lost. Eskander wanted to be argumentative and proud--her immediate reaction was to scorn the comment with something sarcastic. However, an instinct compelled her to bite her tongue.
It was her surroundings. The too-narrow alleyways, the press of other horses in the marketplace earlier, the hush that began to settle with nightfall and the glimmer of candlelight. It all subdued her in a way atypical for the traveller. She had been in the city long enough to recognize the inhabitants should not be her enemies; simultaneously, she did not sleep soundly without the wide skin and open space of the countryside. Eskander had never been uncertain of the dark--but the city streets whispered to her in the way that darkness whispers to young children, in a sinister voice. The archaic within her, the primal and feral beast that lay in all their hearts, wanted Eskander to be afraid of the unfamiliarity.
So, what was familiar: her own kind. The voice of the other mare was not unwelcoming and rather than respond abrasively, she finally nodded her head in a polite greeting, albeit late. Eskander cleared her throat. "I am. I'm new here." And cities aren't my strength. Eskander would not admit that, however, as she was stubbornly committed to overcoming the discomfort.
"I'm Eskander," she offered, rather wearily. The mare had not spoken in the same accent that many of Solterra spoke with, and Eskander took note of that. She made certain not to allow it to affect her judgement, however; she spoke in an accent that was also misplaced. The other mare held an aura of importance that Eskander could not quite place; nothing abrasively arrogant, traits she typically associated with stallions... Rather, she possessed a calm authority. "I was just trying to familiarize myself with the area, and marketplace. But the alleyways twist. I'm from lands where there are no cities, or buildings. The concept is foreign to me; the structure unnatural." Eskander explained, matter-of-factly, and then realized she had likely said too much. It was nice to talk--she couldn't quite remember the last conversation she had had and, despite herself, she was full of foal-like curiosity.
