Moonsong Glacier i. i'll wrap up my bones

As if conjured by her inner musings, her eyes focus upon two pale blips on the horizon. They tell her it is nothing more than the same grains buffering her in a cold raze at that very moment, snow caught like sand on the winds of a storm. But the verdant orbs linger all the same, her mind recognizing before they do. A woman -- a yearling in truth, perhaps younger than Lótë by a turn of the seasons -- draped in the same achromatic hues found atop the glacier, the other blip her winged creature which soared away with a few powerful flaps of its wings as the pallid femme drew near.


"And I you," the dove murmured in return as she met the white wisp halfway, tawny ears cupping towards the unfamiliar greeting she was offered. It was pleasing on the ears, she decided. "I'm Lótë," she introduced herself, and felt only a small stab of guilt for this lie. It was not completely untrue. Lótë was who she was now, who she chose to be. That was all that mattered, right? Despite her moment of inner turmoil, the artist's tail gave a few wags where it hung in a similar low position -- as if to say: it's nice to meet you.

"Forgive me for asking if it would be prying but...are you alright?" the herbalist asked, tones colored with a hint of concern. She didn't want to make assumptions or bother the girl if it was horribly personal but she got the sense that there was something more to the exhaustion that curled over the other woman's shoulders like a fine wrap.