Gyrfalcon's Keep hippie sabotage

A moderate wind picked up, tugging at the tips of he greyscale pelt and swirling around them in a most liquescent manner. The chill of the oncoming winter nipped at them, but Olive heard his crystalline voice settle in her ear in a manner as clear as the night sky. The fae raised upon her haunches and resettled a foot nearer to the upbeat wolf, to hear him all the better. He was a friendly fellow and interested in her humble conversations; this, Olive could easily entertain.

And on what a most exquisite night! The sprite had not forgotten the incredible scene that played out behind her; the moon nearly reaching its crescendo high in the sky. The lunar goddess, that luminated cicerone in the sky, shone upon them. Olive drank in the moonbeams like a parched flower would do to the humid air of summer. They gave her light and energy, despite the late hour.

She turned her chin and canted her head towards the white specter as he inquired to her name and offered her his own. Birk, Olive committed to memory and she parted her grey lips to response. “Those who know me, call me Olive.”

“The ice fields?” she questioned. “Birk, I beseech you to tell me a story about your ice fields. I want to know them.” Olive begged in jest, but truly did wish to know about the man’s heritage. To clarify and provide context for her sudden earnest interest, the fae added “To share in each other’s narratives is one of the best ways to exalt the full moon.”