Blackfeather Woods This is what it sounds like, when doves cry

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"Perhaps i'll see you again, Aries," 

Stygian curtains parted, words once more returned to warp around his skull - from betwixt those shadows strode a figure from memories of the past; those diaphanous shreds of intensity, the web of mystery which swathed her every breath. His own, too. It connected them from the moment she revealed herself to his boreal stare, the vehemence of their eyes, locking without resistance. Air itself seemed to tremble, shuddering like the cold rattle of dead leaves, falling to meet the unforgiving earth. As his gaze did set upon her, the wind faltered from the force of the two cursed empyrean beings, once more entertwined in company - the skeletal king, and the wintry shield-maiden. There was a distinct difference to grant enticement this time, however, in that it was clear who grasped the most power in their hands at these ticking seconds, the fragile passing of time - unlike his usual distate for such a shift in the balance, he found the corner of his lips twitching, fighting the urge to curl upward in caliginous appreciation of her achievements. Before he crushed it.

So, Tundra... we meet again.

She had been correct. Aries allowed his eyes to briefly swim over the gelid, idyllic features of the serrated pearl, but settled them only upon her own unhumerous gaze, the orbs of falsity - except here, he was witness to none of this feined warmth, only the intensity of her glacial stare; he felt it pierce his skin as a breath was drawn from his lungs, an arrow of ice, but it did nothing to unsettle him, nor did he begin to question his own presence. The soldier let it writhe beneath his pelt, and met her eyes with this matching severity but void of venom, steeped only in verglas, questioning inside his head what it was she thought of him now, in this moment, standing in sobriety at her borders. He could distinctly recall the shifting of her weight beneath the wisps of his frosted breath, in their last encounter, that resistance of something he could not name - he pondered whether it might sway to his command now, if she would fall prey to that resistance, and let the Svartell fall closer. Was she brave enough, as her posture so conveyed? Or would she turn him away, to protect herself?

His chin inclined solemnly, eyes never leaving her form, before contemplating in his unreadable silence the words she had passed across the breeze. Arcane, ruminative. Before his throat could release the giving of speech, another figure bathed themself in visibility, and he was almost not surprised to discover that Maegi was the one to lead these steps - a mirage of memories passed over his mind, but none were present upon his stony visage; he could remember her, in her early youth, shrouded in the radience of the moon. She had grown, once more, and he felt a whisker of pride swell in his iron chest before locking it away and turning back to meet the impenetrable gaze of Tundra, silvery shoulders rolling back as he considered.

"You have plenty of reason not to trust me - I am aware of this," his voice tumbled out, a concoction of ice and steel, the tempestuous rumble of thunder to shudder from between his lips into the summer air. "But perhaps it will please you to know that The Melonii are crumbling," he muttered, almost curious to gauge their reactions - surely, they would revel in this discovery, if they were so inclined as to believe his words? His truth was hardly feined, not this time, but he did not anticipate to gain their trust from a few minute snatches of information. "They will not stand for much longer." His betrayal? Well, unfortunate, he supposed, but they had grown too feeble in their isolation, and he had begun to question their motives. Blackfeather would remain his home, regardless of Nyx's fallen leadership.

One smoky brow raised in unspoken anticipation, but his chin dipped once more, locking eyes with Tundra before drizzling between the two women in charge. "Should you permit me to return, I am entirely yours to command." What an ironic turn of events, he smirked inside his skull, eternal ice steeping his tone in frost; this was a pledge in which he would hold to his chest, despite what they might have believed - he was greatly curious, in fact, to discover how his abilities might have been wielded, particularly by the winter warrior herself, the one who had weaved herself across his side, to shudder in the light of the fireflies.

He could still recall her jaws at his throat. His own, too, settled beneath the curve of her shoulderblades.