Moonstone Quarry gatekeeper of an endless war

his eyesight does not fail him — alas, distance and the swarthy blanket of nightshade chased by the radiance of the golden sun enjoys playing tricks to even the most keen of eyes — for as the woman draws nearer wintersbane can plainly see the splintering scar left along the elegant curvature of her spine. it bothers him little. how can it? when vanity has been struck from his ownself with the marring of neck and throat and ugly scars down his face. new scar, princess? he murmurs in honeyed rasp and low, breathy chuckle rumbling within the depths of his marred throat.

he holds still for her, muscle in his hip twitching and a slow noise of contentment drawing from his chest as she presses against his side — her cheek against his shoulder. he always enjoyed her company previously, and his plight for water and one of those shimmering moonstones — though he isn't certain what he would do with it ...gift it to vellamo, perhaps ( as if a sparkling stone could make up for being a shit dad ) — put on hold for the time being.