Guilty by association. Astarael had never had the opportunity to stumble upon the gimpy mare outside of Sylva and, admittedly, she had no true reason to target the otherwise plain mare. Hiro spying her conversing with Belgaer had been a pure coincidence and, truly, she had no way of knowing the depth of their conversation. It was her prejudices against her own family and Ischia that had provoked her deepest curiosities.
Held by the Finisher, the mare had little hope of a peaceful existence among them. Already Maugrim seemed to have a peculiar fascination with the mare - an obsession, almost. The lithe demoness cared not for the stallion's twisted interest, only the things he could learn from the little trinket.
Lurking just beyond the realms of Wound's sight, Astarael lingered her emerald gaze fixed upon the mare's fragile appearance. Slowly, like an predator stalking its prey, red tongues of fear slithered toward her, eagerly wrapping itself around the outline of the mare's figure. Blood clung to her otherwise midnight coat, wet and freshly drawn. Maugrim was not one for subtlety and Astarael admired him for his dedication.
Leaving the cool embrace of her shade, she inched closer the true terror of her unusual appearance being made visible. Seemingly larger, the queens wings framed her body terrible and cruel when paired with the arching horns that erupted from her skull.
Hello Wound, she greeted her voice deceptively warm. We meet at last.
@[wound] at long last!