The mare was arrogant. Astarael did not react to the dun horse’s coarse chuckle, instead one brow rose to mark her amusement. The mare lacked a respect for the darkness that pulsed just beyond the place where they stood. Vain ambition dripped off the golden coat of the newcomer, telling a story that the Demon Queen was not quite sure she liked. Astarael listened with half of her interest invested as she allowed the mare to make her assumptions. The horned mare felt her fear aura as it clung to the stranger hungrily. Demands and interrogations, the mare thought herself deserving of a place among them and, yet, Astarael did not truly believe that she knew the true depths of their intentions. Still, she had wandered into their clutches and wished to know more about them. The she-demon would be glad to oblige.
Astarael ignored the would-be Sylvan’s question, though it seemed to be the only way the dun knew how to speak. She spoke of names and recruitment only to prove just how little she knew of the dark forest.
“Recruit?” Astarael barked, hating the taste of the word as it fell past her lips. “We do not recruit within these borders. You are either a part of the darkness,” the nearly black mare cast a judgmental look upon the dun. “Or you’re not.”
And anyone who does not serve the shadows shall feed it.
When she had first arrived within the fold of Sylva she hadn’t sought Mortem’s permission to stay. She’d demanded it and he saw the hunger and hate that boiled deep within her. It had not even been a question upon his lips as she’d secured her place beside him.
“I am Astarael, Queen of this land,” she allotted. “So tell me, do you serve the darkness or do you serve yourself?”
@[Sabe]