 Evren does not know this mare. She does not know her quirks or habits, or how she responds when under stress. But even if Evren had had a few moments to anticipate every possible reaction Scylla could have given her, she likely would not have expected to be accused a liar.
So taken aback is she, that at first she can do nothing but stare at the mare, her expression wrinkled in incredulity. Cold dread and hot anger battle in the pit of her stomach and make it twist. She inhales a trembling breath and closes her eyes, imagining yet again what her father would have done in this situation. And again, she does the opposite.
“Excuse me?” she replies, her voice like flint. Adrenaline starts to sing in her blood - making her head dizzy and her thoughts jumbled - and before she can stop it, her voice grows louder. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? For all I know, you’re the one lying about how you know him.”
She lifts her head and looks down her nose at the older mare, her lip curling in disgust. “I should turn you back the way you came from. I don’t need this right now.”
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