I was looking for a breath of life
another taste of divine rush
If Shaytan didn’t already have two obsessions (one - Straia, and two - bunnies), she might be the one so easily won over. She already sleeps with the wolves, walking daily amongst devils without knowing the sort of protection she enjoys as member by proxy. Killing bunnies and drinking their blood is bad, right? A very minor bad, but bad nonetheless. She is a wolf in a horse’s skin and with a horse’s teeth. She is wretched and tortured and awkward and really not very good at anything at all. Least of all, caring for Sayaa, the (less) skinny, but still abnormally small little bay girl that can often be seen lurking near the pink tinted mare. The maroon is mostly faded now, into a nice light, rosy pink. Her normally white mane is still a light shade of blue, and the fanged bunny crest on her chest is still (and forever will be) as dark red as can be. The rest of her bay spots have turned up as well, giving her a very odd, very comical look. Not that Sayaa ever describes her mother, but if she did, she might say the one that looks like a clown (a clown that bites and kicks and generally ignore her - but still a clown).
Shaytan hears the whistle, and though it is not a summons from her achingly beautiful Queen, she decides it might be worth investigating. The voice is unknown, and if she is to be good at anything, she should probably at least know the others she works alongside. She turns from whatever it was she is idly doing and ambles towards the noise, giving no thought to the child who has created her own sort of game amongst the trees. Sayaa watches her go, and it isn’t until Shaytan is almost out of sight does she scamper after her. Having weighed the choice to follow or not follow, she thinks it still might be best to keep her food source in sight, lest it disappear forever. It might, she thinks. Her mother is unpredictable.
The very faint scent of blood reaches Shaytan’s nose and it triggers the yearning. She’d been so good. So, so good. Fucking hell. She doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it, however, because the little get together she’s arrived at is rather odd. Odd, even by Shaytan’s standards. She doesn’t know any of them, and ugh, social gatherings give her a bit of anxiety. Shaytan doesn’t say anything as she approaches, drawing up beside a palomino mare who is large, just like her. She couldn’t possibly be of Belgarath’s blood, though. She seems… too well adapted. “Hello,” she says simply. It seems like a strained introduction. The bunnies lurk in the back of her mind.
Sayaa sneaks up to the other side of the palomino, putting another horse between herself and her mother seemed like a good idea. She looks at the one who is skin and bones and takes a couple of small steps forward, curiosity taking hold. They are kind of the same, which makes her sad. If Sayaa is unhappy, then surely this grownup is unhappy. She murmurs softly to the captive, ‘“You should eat more.” The lady’s mother must hate her too, she thinks.
Shaytan
so many lives
so many pairs of eyes