[/html]Cassandra had been worshipped once, too; it had been a shock to her, but she had been betrayed just as quickly, as easily. She was more strange than the rough-spoken seadogs and more beautiful, she had been told. Something easy to look towards, to look at, to revere in a shallow, mindless sort of way. A holy, pure goddess amongst the dirty mongrels of the mountains -- all men, of course -- but nothing ever stayed scared for long. Only fools believed in such things, especially if their god was themselves.
Asked in a different manner, she would have been happy enough to shrug, tell the stranger that she had nothing of value, thank him for his time, and continue on her way. But fuck? She could have laughed, but gave a sly sort of grin instead. Did she look so desperate? It had only been a day since her last meal; were her bones showing already? Did others spread their legs so easily? It was not an offense taken personally; no, she was not so easily bothered anymore by the trivalties of swine. But it was an excuse. And she had not known that she had been looking for one until just then.
"Is that all you want?" she asked sweetly. Cassandra paused and looked the jackal in the eye, her own still reflecting some odd combination of embarrassment and experience. She undid the tie of her cloak, shrugged it from her shoulders, then held the heavy cloth in front of her, as if to cover herself a different way. "But we should eat first, or the crows will have our meal."
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