Lion Head Mesa i worship ancient hungers

she apologizes for scaring him and he both accepts and brushes it off with a rise and fall of his broad shoulders, a quirk of his lips given as she smiles and chuckles to herself. he doesn't understand the inside joke, of course, but wintersbane would much rather a chuckle than a flash of teeth at him. not that he couldn't hold his own in a fight — because he certainly an — just that he didn't necessarily enjoy the thought of fighting on a precarious outcropping that which a tumble from might spell death ...or if not death than several broken bones at least.

she draws nearer and he allows this, studying her with a clinical interest before his gaze returns to heavens once more. he scoots over a bit to make more room for her but is mindful of the edge and his body. he's not scared of heights per-say but something in his intuition warns him not to stray too close to it. just in case. she offers him her disclosure and wintersbane lets out a soft, contemplative noise that is more breath than it is anything else. he understands and far be it for him to hold her lack of knowledge against her. he doesn't know much of anything about them either and if he's ever heard stories about the stars or the moon he's long since purged them from his memory.

she offers him a tale and he glimpses at the moon with quiet consideration once more. if that is true, he adds softly, then the moon knows ancient longing. how sad, he cannot help but think.

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