— here, this name; a rosary i recite with teeth

tag(s) only for reference, AW otherwise ♡

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[narrow width=800]her ears tilt forward, eyes making a reverent pass over the montane jaws of cloudrest – that which, in a way, she had taken unprompted leave from. it had been so much so that each day had been an aching and cruel stretching of her soul; regardless of whatever manner of things that @Terhi had managed to wedge between tightlock jaws. this loam had not been beneath her paws for several sunrises, but winter's frigidity has since hooked itself beneath all the root networks. even here, there is already dawn frost, but the silver does not ( cannot, and will not ever ) mind the cold. nor its gold, quelled by languid fog; and those birds brave enough to stay seemed not to mind, either.

and there would be time enough to let the palantír prod at the bruise-tender places of her fever-ravaged mind; and poke at the ribs that now shied under skin. for now, there was work to be done once more. it is not so unfamiliar; and she takes to it gladly, eagerly, highstepping over all the knots of sedge and foxtail grasses; finally ( finally ) taking to her mists that pooled between all the hollows and valleys.

thus the witchking sets off for where she's sure her southern borders need replenishing;
ever wondering what might be revealed to her on this day.[/narrow]

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“Never have I seen a woman so full yet so, so... empty,” Paradoxical, the gargoyle of Lovecraftian tales; firmly placed mitts crinkling the snow betwixt leather-skinned paws as he let his gaze stake claim over her lithe bodice. He would sit, beckoning, atop his waxen throne; silverteen tongue overlapping once, twice, along elongated fangs.

Well-fed, he seemed to be, stuffed pleasantly with the likes she hadn't caught herself. If she requested a meal, he wouldn't be opposed to fetching, but her dove-like appearance hadn't yet fooled him, as even the feathers of peace held knives within their grasp. “Nor have I seen a woman so alone.” Though, he supposed he differed that, didn't he? Or was his individuality not nearly well-suited enough for her liking? “I would like that to be... Changed.”

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[narrow width=800]the words of the errant varis — crow came to her above the scrape of her claws into the half-stripped bark of some gilt-boughed, creaking tree. for now, she says nothing in return to his initial regard, and does not acknowledge the warm, studious press of his gaze on her. instead, the silver leaves her post behind in favor of rummaging her way through the crunch of still-green and fraying ferns to seek out the next. it is only when she's hunkered down to mark some half-rotted, moss-laden log, the trickle of her relief filling the momentary silence between them  –  and his words  –  does she look at him as shamelessly as he looks at her.

it was good that their palantír had not had to tend to her any longer: he's just shy of overstuffed.

inconspicious humor nips at the edges of her wan mouth, keen to settle into the old home of it where, once upon a time, laughter had been its hearth. but she forsakes it, in favor of rising from where she's left her meager claim and nearing where he sits, her steps a shade weary. there isn't an error, really, to all that he had said thus far. full and empty and ... alone, despite the few who had pledged themselves to the mistvale; despite her innards folding over themselves in the way they knew that there were more than one ways to be alone.

and then: change.

"you have ... lingered for some time in these lands, yes,"  the sotaherra mused gingerly, not at all now assuming the best, nor the worst, for either of their situations.  "i did not know that you would still be here, after i ... awoke."

she did not know if it would ease the hurt she kept always in her heart for her dear warlord; or the anguish that she hoards therein like a shrike. but ... truly, that any of frostchant had stayed on in the midst and after her fever, unsworn or no, had kept her in a state of disbelief  (  that perhaps she was undeserving )  and hesitant, uncertain hope  ( that perhaps their words were truly their bond. )

but she would not ever be the first to leave.

not like last time.[/narrow]

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The majority of their following interaction consisted of his soft bellows and an overcoming, clinging trickle of liquid. A twang of curiosity along with the fragrance of piss was enough to make the stone of his muzzle turn upward... Though not in disgust; but in pure amusement. Nevertheless the act of relieving oneself, but the purpose of it, the lack of concern or anguish. It tickled him. “Ah, don't mind me,” insouciantly, he remarked, settling himself within the grasp of snow now dampened by her short tread.

“If I were to have left, I would have missed out on these... Fascinating interactions.” Say what you would, but the male wasn't bored, save for maybe being a bit too entertained. Unusual was she, but it made her whole.

“Dove, I must ask, what are our next steps, for these vagrant people?” He chose his words purposefully, head slightly forward as her nearing caused his brows to furrow and eyes to straighten. He enjoyed her becoming strength, though even he knew her to be weakened. What made her stand tall? Was it a cluttered mind of disarray, or a power buried under the snows? “Are there more hidden away that I haven't yet met?”

—

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edit for recruiter specialty points / tag

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"there is @Eira, and @Zeravine, and @Inarius. and there are my fosterlings, @Ifalna and @Helcaraxë. if you have not yet met them, then you surely will in time. ...there are not so many of us as to lose count, yet,"  lilting, low voice a bit withered from her great rest, collapsing into a hum that sat itself in the middle of her breast.  "but ... perhaps it is just as well: there is much to think up of. trials of trade, for one, to see if hopefuls are willing to put in the effort of earning our trust just as we will watch them, and see if what they are made of means we should let our home open to them."  a pause. then:  "i am keen on those who are strong in body, however ... i will not turn away those whose might lies elsewhere."

where there was weakness, myriad strength could be found elsewhere.

and she had not missed our.

the mistkeeper shifts her weight from one narrow hip to the other; the fog of hours-ago fatigue sharpened to scrutiny and musing, military appraisal of him. but it was not with the same fervor of which she had first approached him  —  not out of some desperate wish to be of use and to matter in some way, all at the echo of some dubious, blue vision and the word of only her own, gone unchecked by a palantír that she has not had by her side at that particular time. to temper her forgeblaze ambition with bellows of sensibility and sound argument.

"to have you with us  ...  it would be good. but, aside from depleting our rations, as i'm sure you will be wont to do,"  a bit of snide jab, though with no ill will in it,  "what will you offer my people?"[/narrow]

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+2 Formation Points

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