Hushed Willows faerie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary

She'd not settled for long, snuffling with congestion from the damp. Biting back shivers from the chill, the spurned sylph had just begun to fall into a drowsy doze when the first of them appeared. 

Soft and white, she stumbled over Fen - appearing so suddenly in the dim gloom that the half-breed drew back in alarm, tumbling over her own skinny limbs in the process. 

Falling back on her scarred haunches with a quiet oomph, owlish pale eyes blinked at the woman in surprise, lips parting to assure her all was well when the second came barreling through. 

She was the opposite of the first faerie: stinging needles of winter downfall in the face of her predecessor's summer shower, the burn of a summer sun sinking over the horizon opposed to the first rays of spring, fangs bared and hardened eyes in place of warmth. 

The mother's butterfly auds pinned to her skull as her spine curved in instinctual submission, licking her chops anxiously as her gaze hit the floor shatteringly. 

She dared not look up as the third entered, her soft words a balm to the sudden tension within the cave. Dark, sooty paws were all she saw in her peripherals as the queen drew from the shadows with silent bearing. 

"My apologies," the trespasser wisped at last, when the coal-crowned Seelie had fallen silent and expectation congealed in the air. "I'd not known ze land was claimed. Ze rain had gotten fierce, I could nae smell much or see anything."

"I mean no trouble," Wördronna lilted softly, hopefully. "I'll go quietly." Her slender muzzled bobbed once, just-so, as if to punctuate her willingness to cooperate.