Lost Creek Hollow all that may seem is but a dream within a dream

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By this time in her life, she was well aware that her appearance and mannerisms unsettled many, so it came as no shock when the male responded to her in a wary way. She did not step back or flinch when he snarled low (a move she made out of naivety more than boldness), and as for his dominant body language, it meant nothing to the half blind hermit who could not see it nor had the pack experience to know its meaning anyway.

As for his mention of being a father, she merely gave a thoughtful hum in response, her eerie song slowly starting back up again but in no way loud enough to drown him out. The term “father” meant very little to her; her own wasn’t even so much as a faded scent in her memories, and the only parent deity she worshiped was referred to as Mother. She knew the title was important, therefore did not devalue or shame him for it, but her vagueness on the subject kept her from feeling anything more about it. So, she simply cast it aside, easily putting the fact somewhere she’d likely forget it. Either way, he was still “brother”.

Now he asked who she was, and the question brought back that ghost of a smile on her lips. Her song had faded out so she could hear him, but quickly vamped back up again. It was not what one might consider a beautiful song, no, it was something more akin to a slowed down nursery rhyme or an old tinkling music box. It merely added to her strange, eeriness, now coupled with a slightly swaying form.

“I am many things, so they say… Wolf, yet naught… Ghost, apparition, demon, yet naught… Her creation,” she nodded up to the moon peering through the trees, “and my own.”

Her unseeing gaze found him once again, her cryptic lament likely making her seem more out of touch with reality. “I am called Nimue.

“Who are you, brother?”

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