Firefly Glen i am flesh and i am bone

yesssssss

The clan was his first priority, the shadow-swathed troupe of blackfeather survivors; it was true they had abandoned the sacred woods, but for valid reason. Damien possessed true melonii blood, and he would lead them on their destined path, the slayer was certain - Nyx was to birth new young and from this the clan would grow. They would strengthen, and rise up against whatever plights cursed their future.

The Svartell frequently departed from the security of the weald, svelte figure sliding like a serpent betwixt lingering trunks and fallen branches; those mortified victims of the winter gusts. A desolate battleground. The tormentors of the season had begun to part, but spring was not fully upon them, as snow still remained and the fog sat thick upon the horizon. Winter was a stoic time of peril and blunt force, luring the creatures into hiding, waiting for the frigid tremours to pass - the weak would perish, the worthy would prevail, and the cycle continued, cleansing the teekon every year. It was Aries' favoured time (though in truth he cared little for any of the seasons), as the crisp orbs of ivory were unstoppable, claiming every inch of the land and stretching icy tendrils across all nooks and crannies; very few were left untouched. It was a display of brutish conquer, the victory of nature as it battled itself.

A few glimpses of new life sprung ahead in the undergrowth, and he observed the snatches of green with a distinctly cold, blank expression.

Watching the dead be overcome with revival and an ebbing river of natural medication was not something he particularly pledged himself to - his glacial gaze swept over, across, then away, as large paws trekked through the snow. It was only when a vaguely familiar scent dove to the parting of his lips that he paused, lean body halting to survey the surrounding area; the nameless girl, who's challenge had not passed unforgotten. The Mystery. He disliked the curiousity that would tumble unwanted through his thoughts at recalling her, but the lure of the untouched memory was a tug that even he didn't care to resist. He wove toward Tundra (who was illuminated by the steady glow of fireflies), then paused again beneath the shade of a gnarled tree.

"Our paths seem determined to cross." came the husky timbre of a devil in waiting. It was a statement he thought true, though the cursed starborn was hardly much for believing in the concept of fate, or destiny. What would this encounter bring?