Otatso Wetlands mud masks

rala nodded once more, as if agreeing, drawing comfort in a shared notion - of being careful who you let close. snowwoman was polite to all by choice, but there was not many she shared the name of 'rala' with, less so that she would invite into physical touch, and she would like to consider irene someone that she could return to in hopes of a meal and conversation once more. vaguely, she wondered if the tracker thought the same.

my arrival is recent, huntress said, then, giving a careful, stretching roll of her shoulders. i have met, ah, i would say two, maybe three before you? sivaak and faust playing on my mind most often, humming, then, as she thought of the pale woman with the dark scars - beautiful in a way that she did not seem to realise. and faust - the dark man who sought to create something larger than the mountains, the summits he spoke of. a chief, a leader. taking up space within her memories.

and with a lilting chuckle, she said: yes, you see me well. i enjoy retailing, recalling events. although i do not particularly mix my storytelling and my singing - although, perhaps i should, ever thoughtful, eyes almost distant as she considered the work of a bard. and to listen to stories - i am very much, ah, talker. but listening - it is relaxing. nice to let my mind wander. imagining. even now, she was soothed.

do you have any stories, irene? those that take space within your mind?