Redsand Canyon düster

in the days that followed, mahler climbed to the highest point of the hollow to stare dismally in the direction of andraste's ghostly realm. but return he would not, return he could not; he refused to be more of a fool than he had already found himself.
disconsolate, mahler departed diaspora now, and went down into a canyon that once inhabited horses. no spoor of them now; all hoofed game had fled the shattering of the mountains.
desolate, emptyjawed, the general wandered its as snow began to fall in great draughts, thickening the air with cold feathers.

it is not much of a surprise to find the ghost up and haunting the mountains, untethered and aimless steps preferred over the losing battle that was attempting sleep. each time the blissful daze would try and coax her down, one of the many swirling thoughts trailing her each and every move would launch itself wickedly from the shadows and make quick work jarring her back to complete consciousness. 

so now she drifts forth, one with the frigid air as shadows stroke tender claws down a twisting spine with each nimble weave. usually so intent on seeking startling heights and shivered chills, she shifts minds to descend smoothly into the sheltered grasp of the gloomy cavern. snow flutters in unsullied dances, even the purest of substanes banished from what loomed above to fall, spurned upon this dastardly world. eyelids flutter listlessly as she pushes forth with a swish of her plume. reminiscents of everything seemed to trail the lissom ghost from the euphoric inducing aries to the cravings for the honey eyed soldier and blackfeather. from relmyna to maegi and all others who'd stood under each of their rulings within the intertwining branches. why must they all wish to claim a space in the complex of her mind now.

so thwarted from any attempts of peace as she was, tundra failed to notice the other soul wandering the desolate cavern as her willowy form drifted forth, leaving only the slightest of dents on the substance she covered.

consumed by his own thoughts, mahler was transported to the present by the brush of stone against his flank. a jut protruding from the arcing boundary of the cavern.
he was alone it seemed, and the open space swirled with a thick flurries of snow compounded the ghastly feeling that remained in his soul.
vision blurred; eyes narrowed as the general considered his plight. but before a further step could be taken, andraste unfurled from the shapeless morass.
for a moment he was seized by a mad blend of sorrow and dread to think that the fairy-regent had found him wandering here.
but as the spectre drifted, mahler saw that the gait was not the same, nor the the small plush frame.
another of her courtiers, the general decided, chuffing through the silent gloom to announce himself before the stranger was startled.

so unlike her to be so engrossed in a dwam that she lost that uncannily constant awareness yet it must be true for the chuff to break through her stupor results in the slight start of the pallid creature as a man detaches himself from the shadows. shadowed eyes glare on with a reproachfulness mostly brought on by her own stupidity, not his fault at all yet the uneasy thud of her heart associated with the unexpected presence of another is quick to leave her on edge nonetheless. yet the valitúrë found herself utterly wearied and so with a soft sigh, lessened the intensity of her stare somewhat so that he need not fear her turning him to stone with a graze of inky orbs. 

quite transfixed by the soft glow of his own lilac glance, she inhales the frigid air as feathered ivory continues its frantic dance. of course she cannot help but associate the colouring of his eyes with the melonii's signature purple, yet he holds a more muted; soft toned version. diaspora...ahh what a coincidence, he also happened to hail from the pack maegi had intended to relocate to; had they made it? yet reluctant to start down a blackfeather tangent; she instead gives voice to a rather odd string of thought he'd happened to interrupt. "the arctic fox causes quite a dilemma for some you know. the fox of course, is an animal stereotypically associated with being sly, cunning, a trickster and a liar yet draped in the epitome of purity. how can that be? who is wrong with their assumptions then because such a conniving character can hardly be granted a coat of the palest purity? yet is white really so pure? the snow around us is falling, thrown from the sky to fall dammned upon our earth" a smile that does not quite meet the hollow of her gaze traces along serpentine jaws as the sylph takes a few nimble steps to stand before the man.

"i think the whole thing's bullshit, in fact i don't see why wolves find the incessant need to declare things are something just to feel they have any control over any of this. anyway, just something i'd heard a long time ago that happened upon my mind right at that moment. i'm tundra, one of your neighbours." leaning back on her haunches, the warrior rolls back her shoulders to ease the chill that dug tender claws deep into her bones, yet the bite of the air is always welcomed with each inhale. there is something so fresh about air so cold it sears your lungs, as if it comes right from the luminous stars in all their frosty glory. yet tonight is not one for the dancing, silvered moonbeams it seems. this one belonged to the shadows.

the specter stood before him, flush with grace even as mahler felt himself thick and clumsy.
her eyes were large, dark, obsidian in the eldritch glow of moonlit winter.
they drew; they drank, and he felt himself drain to settle upon attentive haunches as the phantom fell into an impassioned monologue.
she spoke of foxes, of snow, of feelings not every yet considered by the gargoyle.
turn by turn he found himself fascinated, even when her words had slowed and he knew her as one of the courtiers in attendance to her,
aurëwen — she could not forbid him now. "i am mahler," he granted in return. tundra — a cold vision to fit the image before him.
"vhy do you vander tonight?"