Bramblepoint bide my time

fine w me! anytime ♡

The rouged strider does not balk at what-ever mischief she might conjure—
and so the witch  (if indeed she now be)  only simpered further, farther, neverminding the foxfire's own insight.  "Oh,"  a rare and petulant pout,  "I am sure they will."  Argent sights crescented, dandied, before they swept heavensward; for though she herself had spoken with such surety, and though her musiker mayhaps had already listened ... she could not assume the same of Stigmata's vision, veiled in white; or who-ever else had recently come into militant tenure alongside both  (if at all).

Then — eventually became quite soon, and as the stricken melted from the burnt's presence through berry and briar, the shorn lips again parted to breathe, lune:

"Wind guide you, phayanāro."