Firefly Ravine no one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace

the conquerer of times past does not expect company but he, better than most, should know that company loves misery; and while he wasn't miserable per say the point was expected and wanted or not he suddenly found himself in the company of a young, pale sylph that appeared to the warrior priest to be in some sort of drunken state. or, perhaps, he contemplates, she is just sleepy. there is an aura of royalty to her, a delicateness to her slurred greeting that piques his interest while, mere moments ago, he'd been determined to ignore her sauntering into his general vicinity.

golden gaze studies her as much as the thick and heavy fog will unveil to him. a dove left out of the sect's gilded golden cage. upon her pale pelage is a myriad of scents — of numerous wolves among other things that he doesn't bother to make sense of. well, jagtooth draws with a sardonic smile tugging at the edges of his lips. i don't know if it's a good morning but it is a morning. good was subjective and far from the stark black and white as many would certainly like to believe.

perhaps a wanderer shouldn't wander too much further. the land of this ravine is limited. a wanderer might wander into the river and be whisked away by the rushing torrents to the sea. a warning in case she decides to loftily drift further along. they were already pushing the boundaries of the ravine's land as it was. there wasn't much 'land' left to drift upon and she certainly gave jagtooth the impression that she was just drifting ...like a feather upon the wind.

i am jagtooth. he informs her, not a huge fan of half drunken riddles. and you do not appear to be in an entire lucid state. he draws forth his clinical observation without preamble. there are always snakes in the garden of eden, lying in wait, biding their time with the eagerness to tempt the lost lambs that have wandered too far from their shepard.