11-04-2018, 09:19 PM
When Astarael had ruled the red forest, her matching aura had been a common sight between the trees. She had been fond of pressing fear into her denizens, and I had learned much from watching her. We had never spoken – as young as I was I still knew better than that – but I had come to recognize the signs of fear in horses, in the widening of their eyes and the catching of their breath. Even the most stoic of them have tells.
It is those tells I am waiting to see, the first sign that the immense projection of fear into the minds of the Sylvans might have been successful.
I had been a token of the first alliance between the woods and the hills, a gift from one king to another. They had used me as they saw fit; the scars on my body are testament of that, especially when their extent is revealed by my windblown mane and flared wings. I had, in time, left the man who had treated me as an object for one who treated me as a woman. He ignores my demands in favor of addressing Wolfbane; makes suggestions that violate what I have just said.
Returning his glare eye for eye, I am ready to launch myself at him when a voice comes whisper soft from Wolfbane’s other side. It is the healer, Noah, and she repeats my demand. Then is Wolfbane, addressing Arthas only to banish him from the southern lands in bold proclamation. My blue grey eyes flick to his for a moment in brief and wordless gratitude, that the smile is unable to work past the hard set frown as I turn back to watch the Sylvans and wait for their reaction.
It is those tells I am waiting to see, the first sign that the immense projection of fear into the minds of the Sylvans might have been successful.
I had been a token of the first alliance between the woods and the hills, a gift from one king to another. They had used me as they saw fit; the scars on my body are testament of that, especially when their extent is revealed by my windblown mane and flared wings. I had, in time, left the man who had treated me as an object for one who treated me as a woman. He ignores my demands in favor of addressing Wolfbane; makes suggestions that violate what I have just said.
Returning his glare eye for eye, I am ready to launch myself at him when a voice comes whisper soft from Wolfbane’s other side. It is the healer, Noah, and she repeats my demand. Then is Wolfbane, addressing Arthas only to banish him from the southern lands in bold proclamation. My blue grey eyes flick to his for a moment in brief and wordless gratitude, that the smile is unable to work past the hard set frown as I turn back to watch the Sylvans and wait for their reaction.
