The Floodlands safe behind your veneer

The alkonost's paw had not quite kissed the earth, her step not yet taken, when a shadow materialized before her. 

Stifling a flinch, Iär'e's head tipped back to meet pastel green - and then forward as Zuzuhakte recalled again the laws of beasts. Though untethered as she, this woman was perfumed in the prominent scents of other, wolf, young. 

The Tipani, a peaceful creature in her heart, was not foolish: she'd offer no threat, no reason for offense. 

Tishinka's head lowered, nodding respectfully as the woman moved to pass - requited admiration in the crashing waves of the oceans of her gaze. 

The woman was an artistically crafted obsidian blade: sleek and black as oil, a honed edge to her sharp angles. A pang of jealousy thrummed within her veins, watching her go - how she wished to be half as fierce, as powerful, even in simple moments as these. 

"Ezinisiri," the greeting spilled from her lips of its own accord, perhaps spurred by the realisation that the woman planned to continue on her path, a grinding husk of misuse. 

The stranger would not know its meaning but still, the shaman allowed her features to tilt up - gaze rising to the black pearl's as if allowing her to read her intentions. 

"You are 'urt," she rasped in the common tongue, scenting the blood upon the air. A wrinkle furrowed between her eyes as they dropped to the minor cut. 

"Please, allow me," the Tipani stepped forward with cautiously guarded features - gesturing to the thorns still caught in the Leä's skin.