Northstar Vale the tones of your flesh i tempered with pandyssian chalk

small post before job part ii.

emerald fronds painted in nightshade, peppered with dusty snow that shivers and falls to the earthen floor beneath, shifting with the motion of her parting of them as melkor watches her rise and draw nearer. ears cup forth as she offers a soft greeting but does not speak. melkor isn't particularly bothered by the lack of words — he'd spent much time with the ever silent relmyna and her equally as silent daughter astara, after all. the ruinous tundrian is silent upon her approach, salmon pink tongue darting out to draw ever-so-slightly against her pale, nose of roséwine as it touches to his lips; cool.

he hadn't thought about it; merely acted. to greet her tenderly, perhaps affectionately.

can't sleep either? he is the first to break silence with words, offering it in a soft rasp of smoked whiskey.