04-10-2010, 08:37 PM
Scents and sounds enveloped her, toying with her nerves as a cat might toy with a mouse. They were all here. All of them. Honeyed eyes dipped towards the crowd gathered around Conor, ricocheting off the play of emotions clouding the faces of those present. Some appeared to welcome this revelation, and others...Well, others appeared as though they'd bitten into something sour. Istabel crept closer as voices rose above the undercurrent of murmuring voices. Had she the gift of gab, her own lips might be weaving words of surprise, even doubt...
But, what did she know? She was a newborn infant compared to some of these gathered here. She had not been a part of their war. She had not tasted the blood of their enemy, nor did she bear the marks of battle. No. ...Her marks were of a different sort. Twin, dark scars encircling each of her wrists, silvery and polished where the light hit them. Marks of the past that symbolized the present. She was free here...free to make her own moves, to make her own choices. Right now, the choice seemed obvious...
A Leader. They needed a leader. Conor was providing them with a solution...be it permanent, or be it temporary. At any rate, Istabel had no voice with which to concede or contest the matter. She merely clung to the sidelines, a lean and delicate wallflower...the intensity of her eyes soaking in the proceedings before her. The smell of wolves clouded her senses, so many bodies pressing in, the taint of dried blood...
...All at once her marigold depths sharpened. She could get used to this.
But, what did she know? She was a newborn infant compared to some of these gathered here. She had not been a part of their war. She had not tasted the blood of their enemy, nor did she bear the marks of battle. No. ...Her marks were of a different sort. Twin, dark scars encircling each of her wrists, silvery and polished where the light hit them. Marks of the past that symbolized the present. She was free here...free to make her own moves, to make her own choices. Right now, the choice seemed obvious...
A Leader. They needed a leader. Conor was providing them with a solution...be it permanent, or be it temporary. At any rate, Istabel had no voice with which to concede or contest the matter. She merely clung to the sidelines, a lean and delicate wallflower...the intensity of her eyes soaking in the proceedings before her. The smell of wolves clouded her senses, so many bodies pressing in, the taint of dried blood...
...All at once her marigold depths sharpened. She could get used to this.