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& the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand - Andraste - January 12, 2020
Part I of II. READ ONLY. All tags just for reference, ily
stepping featherlight from the rapture of her realm in favor of reaching farther and further to the spires that sat vigil o'er her Vale. Ears tilt rare forth, halfsights making a reverent pass over the eminence of daunting, deathwish'd cradlethings. Concoction pinched in hareskin, hung betwixt fangs; for an hour and several had she lain here, awaiting some foretoken so that she might rouse herself from the deep press of @Melkor's mouth. The doe-skinned trees seem cold this eve – like elegant women working away their chemise. The heavy slumber still gums her lashes; listening for the harpstring drawl of the manticore and inkdribble quáco-croaks.
But then, lo! Before her waking, girlish eyes – !
There prances Sinterklaas' @Dasher through the bruises of gloaming;
mountainking marching through stout, held-fast brigade of evergreens.
She is elfin, now;
plucking at her tote and petalfooting quiet along a path that cobwebbs; hunkering and hushed, impling. She rents the seams of hareskin for the mute mud-berry paste within; smears it to the spines of frosted ferns with long laves of tongue; rubs it amongst the nakedness of trees with stained ribs. Again, again; her soul supping on the quailchirps of @Kukutux; heart atremble for the greyglint knowing of @Star.
There was much to be done before the morrow.