Deciding to test the creature, Castalla slowly rises to her full height, eyes fixed on the shadow, and takes a step in the direction the shade creatures had been guarding. It does not move, but instead watches her from lidless eyes. This time she takes a leap, and sure enough the spirit moves to bar her way, reaching out with fingerless hands. Expecting this, Castalla’s leap is cut short by her fore-hooves slamming into the ground and she pushes her weight back onto her haunches, striking out with her front hooves. The final dark creature dissolves into the mist. Not one to waste time gloating when lives are at stake, the White Wolf turns to the forest, still shrouded in darkness and mist and makes to resume her canter. However a flash of light draws her to a halt, a suspicious and guarded look crossing her features. Slowly the light takes the form of another horse, its visage becoming clearer and clearer. A breathe escapes her lips, sapphire eyes widening as she takes an unsteady step back.
“Skender.”
His name falls like a prayer from her lips, utterly disarmed by the appearance of the one who once held her heart. But her mate was dead, and there was no coming back from that kind of death.
“Please… don't wear his face.”
Her voice is empty, shattered, so unlike the smirking warrior she had been only seconds before. How did it know her? How did it know him?
The being of light ignored her request, or perhaps it didn’t hear, and simply turned and began to glide through the clawing trees, taking a path invisible to all else. With a soft growl, the assassin regained her composure, recalling the reason she had entered this forsaken woodland, and followed the will-o-the-wisp, unable to fully look at the form it had taken.
The faint sound of fearful crying taints the air once more, still in the distance ahead of her, and Castalla picks up her pace, even as ghost-Skender continues to weave gracefully at the same pace. Slowly a path is uncovered, the leaves and mist dispersing enough that she can make out a deer-path, obscured but well-trodden. Ahead it splits and the light-creature stops, hovering demurely between the fork. Both paths were laden with shadow, disappearing into darkness as the voice continued from the dead centre.
Once more, Castalla settles her pained gaze upon the pale creature, hesitantly meeting the gaze of her former lover. The familiar feeling of loss and guilt weighed heavy upon her shoulders, but with a sigh she turns away. She takes the left path for no reason other than the fact that her dominant hoof was left.
Castalla is taking the left path
