War Forged 601: Raising the Stakes

In the wake the red lady’s cold, scornful glare, Sigastira tilted his head in obeisance. He’d have gotten his teeth kicked in for him, if the Valkyrie were not just over there, he was sure. But Voidra’s gleam of ire only made him wish he could provoke her more, and his smile as he watched her walk on was more voluptuous and reptilian than any colt’s had a right to be.

But his gaze softened, as they approached the Warforged, as he eyed the long-legged, somber-snouted creatures with interest. Winter pelts and leather straps and any and all manner of weapons peaking from beneath their cloaks. What cold, cold-eyed banshees in the dusk. But he knew colder. They were ready to fight, certainly, but it was the lean, sweet-eyed liars around him that really wanted one. Digend’s diplomacy. Fie.

He beheld with pleased surprise, a flutter of white feathers beside and away from him; well, the other Nothing seemed to be making something of himself. Good for him. But he might get punished for it, later. Sigastira himself hung back as though he were shy, in the long shadows of Kota and Evanora, for he decided he liked them quite a bit. Listened with the others to the Valkyrie’s stone-faced address. Who were they? Where were they going? Well, Sigastira would be happy to make up a mistruth, but that was the grownups’ jobs, and Mummy ‘Flora’ had told him to shut up.

He eyed the teeth of a great spotted cat snarling under the legs of the mares, saw the gleam of a sword and the tip of an arrow; yes, these friendly kine were randy for a fight. Digend would have something, this eve, to be sure.

Lastly Sigastira’s eyes fell on the boy on the fjord’s back. He did not look so very great, but even the softest of sheep had their place in the world. He would like to rouse the foal, and have a good conversation, while the grownups made their own bloody negotiations.

Without a great deal of thought it what he was doing, Sigastira’s eyes left the child, passing over his Nothing comrade, and Voidra’s heels. Gazing for a pensive moment up at dark Kota, he plodded lightly past him, and out of the fold. Not to the Valkerie, but strafing away from both parties, as though trying to avoid notice before he drew up short and looked timidly between them. A foal’s fear in his eyes, of adults and their strange conflicts and words.

But if he could draw a little bit of their attention away from his fellows, even if that meant the arrow was pointed at him, he would be glad of it.

As he stood there, his eyes went to the mare whose mane was braided; she was the one with the sword, and the cruel-looking cat. But there was something terribly familiar about the way she looked. Almost like she could be his sister. Colors that reminded him of his mother; that old whore he loved so dearly.

“You’re very pretty,” he heard himself say, and it was not a lie.

It was about then that he turned his head a very little, to see Voidra summon something from her side. A beast of bones, writhing to life. He watched without savor, a look of something unpalatable in the mare’s eyes. What a bitch.

But still his expression drew into a smile, for whatever happened next was bound to be interesting. He only looked at the Valkyrie once more, the one who looked like him, and thought it was a pity.