Moonsong Glacier you've got me singing, singing your choir

she watched as the masses gathered, absinthe eyes roaming over each figure as they materialized. most appeared visually unremarkable. the majority of those who were in attendance were women, which immediately left nephele disinterested in the bodies who rest near. of the men who did show, one was not to her preferences and the other, though surely a looker in his prime, was so aged now that she thought him a corpse walking.

so instead she left her focus to the only one she found pleasing to look at — dutch.

a benefit it was that he was also the one necessarily to listen to. she thought his words curious, if not insignificant. she had never traveled for the purpose of joyful gatherings, and the idea was so foreign it left a metallic taste on the tip of her tongue.

it was at his third point of interest that her ears swiveled forward with intrigued familiarity. yes, she could support the idea of alliances.

her eyes remained locked on the figure of the chieftain — they spoke of her interest more than her words ever could.