Ouroboros Spine tapsi ▓

Lótë's stillwater features shone softly, as if with some dim, cozy light beneath the surface of her dimpled expression -- peridots of reserved spring green falling to the stretch of earth between them. A smile teased at her lips, tail swishing in a slow arc, as warmth bloomed beneath her sternum -- a red flower cradled in the cage of her ribs. "I hope so," she murmured but she had faith in the spiritbear. 

I hope I can make him a good wife, she thought (fretted) to herself in what might have been prayer -- vaguely aimed at the web of spirits her people had worshipped. 

"I hope you enjoy yourself," the herdstalker wished in gentle refusal of the wisewoman's invitation. There were things to think about and she longed to walk alone through the blackpine as she considered them. 

She gave the Moon a last smile, and a bump of her brown rose nose against the sister's pale shoulder, before they separated on their own paths.