each word gets lost in the echo

In the predawn hours, she moved ghost-like through the evergreens. The fog coiled and swirled about her, the scent of pine almost overwhelming to her nose. She had followed the river and back, her path as scattered as seedlings would soon be on the spring breeze.

A breeze which so far was chilly, though frost no longer clung to the trees as they had a few days ago. The air was warmer, more humid; the blossoms were beginning to open where they had risen renewed with life in the open fields beyond their claim.

Their claim. She paused at the thought, nose working the air.

It was a strange concept to realize that once again, they were starting over. This time, as creatures with spindly little legs and powerful bodies and minds. Not as human or ethereal being, not as some other creature. Not even as plants or stones though their teeth were every bit as strong and sharp and capable of tearing gently.

And then something else crossed her senses—Minthe.

Now, this was interesting. Styx moved on to follow her.

She had to be close.
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Set after wake up but before the events of this thread.

---

 Minthe didn’t expect the river to chase her.

 Shrouded in fog, wolven water lapped a course through evergreen trees. The river nymph, familiar with the ways of that sodden element, paused. Nose twitching as the wind shifted, Minthe swung round and saw...nothing.

 What a trick - had he been hoping she’d drown? Brain addled, the red woman lifted her lips in a daring snarl before she swished her tail and kept trotting.

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Between the timber, she caught a glimpse and splash of auburn jarring the soft scenery. It was enough to give her pause—Minthe was aware of her and she was aware of this all too keenly—and not wanting to give up the pleasure of dropping in as she was wont to do, that scenery proved to be advantageous. Something akin of mischief unfurled on her features to follow, a scrawling smile etched itself on those ghastly features as she resumed the closing of distance between them; when would be the precise moment to come down like a sudden deluge in the absence of thunder?

No—she knew better.

Aggravation had arose along every tiny spire-like hackle of Minthe’s coat. It would have been unwise to provoke such a thing and the ghostly nymph was hardly a fighter. At least not of the physical sort; one could wager that she had fought a great deal of many things along that seam between dark and light and they would have been astute in that observation.

So she opted to make herself known as she breached the foggy veil between the forest and the path that Minthe blazed, idling behind her with that half-lidded gaze. Her mouth open to speak, but no words came other than the sound of recognition—almost as though she had just stumbled across her and hadn’t been lowkey stalking her at a distance.

“Minthe? Is that you? What a beautiful form you’ve assumed this time,” she offered in exchange of a hello. “It truly rivals your prior.”
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 A jolly poltergeist faded into view. The fog seemed to cling to the titan, though Minthe recognized Styx for all that she was - a sly and untrustworthy apparition.

 She jolted, doing her best to regain the slip of composure with a quick turned and a twitch of her nose. Crimson eyes surveyed the other she-wolf, her own pelt still streaked with river water.

 “Yes, well. Thank you.” Minthe’s response was huffed, but she was never one to snub a compliment. “You look less wet.”

 Sitting down, Minthe tucked her tail over her forepaws, not yet willing to leave. “I didn’t think you’d be here too. Have you seen anyone else?”

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Minthe’s remarks only seemed to enliven the smile on her face, demure as it was. It was not a difficult feat to humor the nymph, though even the derision nearly tempted her into making a quip of her own. Whether in antiquity or association, she could have very well been the soul-guiding entity or a doling form of punishment.

But it was evident Minthe had suffered enough and thus, she was spared.

“There are many others here,” she affirmed softly. “But not all. It would seem our time before has come to pass and now we inhabit this one. And these forms, simple as they may be.” Stripped of unearthly, otherworldly talents and powers—she wondered how much that fueled and stoked the fire locked in Minthe’s gaze.

“Did you just arrive? I know it takes getting used to.”

It always did, though Styx took it to like she had anything else.
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 Simple was a generous slice of phrasing, pretty as a pie. 

 “These forms are loathsome.” Fact, not opinion. Though she’d known the Gods and Goddesses to inhabit their share of primitive, feral casts (they often played at being human, after all) this was an entirely different nightmare. 

 And all thanks to Hades. 

 “I woke up at the bottom of a fucking river.” Her eyes narrowed at the titan, squaring up, daring her to so much as chuckle. Hur hur, river nymph….river...And it would make sense that she'd be in on it too. “Look - I don't have time for this. I need to find Hades.” 

And instead of asking the ghostly woman if she'd seen him, she brushed passed the spectre and pushed on, deeper into the forest. 

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