Deepwood Weald ambrosial grace

Her composure gathers and finds him in what seems to be good company, though admittedly he often took what he could get. It was there he took notice something burdened her, that something was gently masked behind her pleasantries. Those things were not the sort he would seek to tease out like tangled tendrils; he offered a thin smile instead to her inquiry.

"I live here," he said. Drawing his gaze away from her to look about, he spared a second to wonder when that would feel more natural, when the notion of possession would be held in more than word and score marks to old wood. Perhaps it would seem becoming of him as few things were. Dirge let his gaze rest on her again.

"What of you? I find we don't have many who come around these parts. Keeps it quiet I suppose," and perhaps better that it a quiet place than rife with unfortunate circumstances. Plenty had drawn he and Nyx both out to the weald to begin with, granted he tried to bear some of the burden she kept locked away with mismatched success. But for now that was neither here nor there; he was interested in what story was to come, if any.

And there was, saved for another time and unwritten.

thank you for your continued patience! ♡