Blackfeather Woods her face it bloomed like a sweet flower [m]

the woman does not speak ...or, rather, she does not give voice to them. they are silent but she mouths them. he has very little to no practice at reading lips, admittedly, but he picks out the words 'bone' and 'blood' luu and veri. or perhaps it is what he thinks she silently mouths to him because it is what they have combined in the cauldron. her next set of mouthed words were lost upon the tundrian, and as she lets out her breath he is left to idly wonder if she cannot speak or if it is just this temple that bids her to speak in silence.

his gaze moves from his companion then to take in the temple once more as the moon basks it in it's sweetened silvery beams. a shiver slithers it's way down his spine and his maned chest puffs ever-so-slightly. it is not a shiver of chill nor fright ...just a feeling of energy that he can't rightly explain. perhaps, he tries to reason with himself, that it is just the ambiance of the temple. while the woman beside him prays his glacial gaze takes it all in again, touching upon their offering and then the shadows where the moon's rays do not cast light upon.

he has no prayers to make, still isn't quite sure he believes necessarily. his gaze slowly makes it's way back to the woman at his side, giving a soft start to realize her gaze was upon him. wintersbane studies her in return as he waits for what is next in her ritual. he's never attended one before, invited or otherwise and he is left to stew in quietly in his curiosity and intrigue over all of it: the ritual, this temple and the unexplained energy he feels radiating from every inch of this sacrosanct place.