there's a whisper in my bones
keeping me restless and whole
They are deceptive, those antlers crowning her head. They are the weaponry of prey, a distinct symbol marking her out for the many predators that roam this land. Yet, she is not prey. Has never been. Indeed, anyone who gave her more than a cursory glance could easily distinguish the predatory nature of her confidence and fluid gait. An oddness, that, but one that is certainly not unique in this land.
The woman before her seems to realize it. Her apprehension is a thick perfume around her, and were Istrid not also equine in her nature, she might have been tempted by that scent. Instead it draws her curiosity. Why would this mare distrust her so, when she has yet to witness the predator’s aspect beneath the guise of the prey animal she currently wears?
The intuition is common, knowing there is more to Istrid than she shows. The tempered fear, on the other hand, is not.
The cautious words drifting through the air cause her to blink, momentarily caught off guard. She had forgotten, however briefly, that she had already greeted the stranger. “Istrid,” she replies easily. She is accustomed enough to conversation to know how one should go. Accustomed enough to know that she should return the question, should attempt some form of introductory small-talk. The words that slip out of her mouth instead, however, are anything but casual. “You are wary of me,” she remarks before pausing, her brow furrowing faintly. “Why?”
istrid
@Ethenia