Blackfeather Woods the crawling animals will seek all things warm, all things moist

Much as the Glister Witch, the tree calls to the Priestess -- makes the hum of disembodied voices in her mind buzz like a hive of bees, swarming to the forefront to vie for the rights to whisper in the ears of mambo. A sensation that should be altogether unsavory if not downright unpleasant but there's a sense of struggle, a battle amongst the voices that the Bayou queen can sense if not decipher. 

Only one can reign. But Mati had never known of a time where one cast out the others -- stealing the rights to speak freely and gagging the rest. It could be wearisome, their war, but the dark girl intended to know who was king amongst gods. 

Such was what led her to the willow's grove again this day, seeking to commune with the whisperers and shadow-speakers, not yet realizing that another happened to be there when a snag of underbrush caught on the huntress' nightpelt. A crack of a branch beneath her foot as she freed herself, only to meet the wintersnap gaze of a slim man draped in frost as she straightened. 

The panther eyed the man for a moment, unflinching and unblinking as the feline she resembled, before dipping her head slowly in a display of greeting.