Hushed Willows namárië!

@Kiki ♡

The warble-soft words echo off the hunched and hallowed willows now damp and dusted with a lacing of lichen and moss, blue-green and softening of the edges. Evendim invites in soft emberglow and harvest dew through the yawning halls. It is quiet, but for the godless lament laden with promise of everlasting soul-shepherding; limned so sorrowful and greying; faithful and fervent at its heart.

Faerie, lain at the foot of bone-melded grave;
that quieted, croonful voice of mourn, undulating with the choke of spirits and tears laid waste to the crescent docility of her jaw; these hollowing words meaningless, for there was not another soul in all these Wilds who might know the tongue with which she’d been born with. Now, too, had one of the fairest and so-few souls who might have still understood her entire even now — benevolent bearer of first brood — perished all the same.

Her song, what-ever it might be, wanes into half-listened hums and murmurings; and she unravels in the mem’ry of her first meet with the druid, now gone heady, despairing, and entirely unknowing how to ever properly present herself for yet another ghost watch. ... Tears do not come, though, for there have been too many as it is, and Andraste must be without.