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

the air feels different now, heavier like he is trying to breathe through a thick fog. and yet, he does not suffocate. a secondary shiver slithers it's way along his spine, skin crawling in a silent thrill. wintersbane focuses on the energy pulsing around them, in this sacrosanct place. the woman mouths 'she is here'. he only heard small tidbits when he'd been in these woods as a cub ...nyx hadn't been overly forthcoming with things. but even if she would have been would he have listened? it was doubtful. his younger incarnation had been rebellious to his very core. wintersbane is older now and wiser ...but he thinks she means the dark mother. his perception of the world around him has shifted and shifted again ...just as it shifts now. like his vivid dream of lotte ...he feels the same sense of wonder, the same draw and curiosity that he feels now. he is content to not seek answers in the moment: just feel and watch and listen.

she mouths more words but he pays more attention to the dried blossoms she deposits on the bone. he recognizes them as a poison of some sort but their exact name is lost to him. perhaps someone told him at one point ...but as long as he recognized it as poison he the name didn't truly matter. he watches her lips as she speaks once more, discerning the words that she takes the time to exaggerate and pronounce despite that she remains silent. wintersbane gives a firm nod to communicate that he understands what she's said to him for he does not wish to break the barrier of silence that holds between them. as long as she is patient with him there is no need to shatter the ambience that surrounds them like a holy veil.

as he has thus far, wintersbane looks to her for guidance on what happens next.