Phantom Hollow Der Winter wird auf den Wangen,

her words are lyrical; it takes her heavy mind a moment longer to sift through them. she wavers, failing to respond in time to the first query, and yet in that state of mind to dip her muzzle in acceptance of her offer. had the night not been conspiring to smoother her, the earth to pull her down, she would have wondered a moment at the elven sliver of moonlight before her, stepping lightly through a world that did not entirely seem to be her own. 

as it is, she can only move to perch on hindquarters, forelimb trembling, unnoticed, with exhaustion. carefully, she angles her neck toward the woman; displaying there the savage mess of rent flesh and blood. it is chance that had spared her jugular; regardless, her heart struggled to push her lowered blood volume through her veins.