Felltree Marsh sonst ist licht- und farblos

maybe @Lumiya? otherwise AW!

the evening grows old as the wolf skirts the edge of the marsh, feeling tonight the weight of her solitude. from somewhere within the marsh, begin to leak those sounds marking night's arrival; the croak of a raven, grating and low, a distant chorus of bullfrogs. somewhere close, a blackbird calls. black wings, a flash of scarlet, as another cuts low across the marsh in front of her.  

pausing, she circumnavigates a long-fallen oak, stepping near to the edge of the water. the mud sucks at her paws, threatening to engulf entire limbs if she is not careful. suddenly engrossed in the simple act of moving around this obstacle, the wisp moves to pick her way around the dead tangle of roots.

It wasn't her first restless night, nor would it be her last. She longed to spend it with Dante, but didn't dare disturb his slumber. She was no selfish creature, and wouldn't wish exhaustion on her closest friends... But she saw him as something more than that. She couldn't place her feelings for him, but they spilled like an overflowing lake in the early months of Spring every time she laid eyes on him. It was new, and exciting - nearly forbidden, if she should believe her parents. She was not fit to please a man... but then, why did he look at her as if she was as radiant as the Summer sun?

She weaved her way through the willows, unfurling the veil of branches and slipped outside without a sound. Loinnir wasn't with her, he had taken a nap somewhere in the middle of the day and had not yet woken up. She didn't know what he had done that had gotten him this exhausted, but she decided it wasn't her place to tell him when he should sleep or not.

In the distance, she saw the silhouette of another. Greetings. She called, keeping her polite spirit intact.

she is almost clear when another voice calls. the wraith pauses, finding the light-and-shadow painted source yet noting also the pull of the earth. she blinks, carefully navigating the bank as to find a more solid place to properly greet this woman. a misstep; for a moment, earth becomes liquid and her forelimb vanished almost to the shoulder. a hiss under her breath, a carefully repositioning of her other forelimb to allow her to carefully pull it back up to the surface. 

stinking mud coats her limb rather excessively, lips tightening as she settles herself quickly atop a more solid part of the marsh. gaze returns then to the sylph, dark eyes unreadable as she dips her muzzle in respectful greeting. in the past few days alone she's met more wolves than in a month of traveling, but along with her unease, she's come to be more practiced.

She approached carefully, weaving through the marsh as she sought out the solid parts of ground. Her light build and small paws made this easier, but she knew getting splattered was unavoidable. Perhaps she'd invite Dante to a bath in the 'morrow — owh, what a horribly romantic thought! Her attention was focused again on the stranger, dancing 'neath moonbeams, but the earth tripped her up.

I'm so sorry, did I distract you? She asked, still a fair bit away from the other. She was quiet, but she had returned the greeting, so perhaps it was a kindred spirit after all.

the sylph is made of greying scales of morn' and the pale light of the moon, entwined and made flesh. her eyes are the colours of wildflowers, set carefully into a finely sculpted face, clear even from a distance. the wraith is still a moment, before dipping her chin once more and offering a gentle sway of her muzzle no. 

perhaps not true, but she did not fault the sylph. head canted, dark eyes set on the woman as wordlessly she belied her curiosity. this is a place most do not come willingly, save should they be accustomed with places such as this one, as is will-o'-the-wisp.

In the pale light of eve, the other was no more but a grayscale sculpture, standing stately in the marsh. It was almost like a dream, though if Lumi were to describe it to another they'd think of it more as a nightmare. But there hung no threat in the air — instead, the fae felt at ease and calm in the raven's presence, like they were saying that everything would be okay in the darkest of chambers.

No, did the raven  of her dream shake. She tipped her head in curiosity. Can you not speak with a voice? She asked in a tone as gentle as the flap of a butterfly wing.

she steps near with stately grace as the other speaks, falling once more into her complete stillness when she reaches a distance better benefitting a conversation, one-sided as it may be. a blink of dark eyes is the answer she gives, though a sweep of her ears, a sweep of her gaze across the swamp before coming again to rest on the sylph asks wordlessly who she is, to stride so easily through a place like this. 

the stink of the mud on her leg is an irritant she longs to deal with, and yet her focus remains on the nameless sylph, ignore the itching to groom.

I suppose not then... The fae responded to the stillness. Perhaps she was talking to some spirit, their soul clinging to the lands they'd taken their last breath on. She believed there to be ghosts and spirits, if one's life had been ended unfairly when they still had much left to do in this realm. Even as they closed the distance, they appeared otherworldly, like they might just not belong to a plain of existence so simple.

My name is Lumiya, queen of the faeries. We live in a willow forest just a way's towards the mountains. She told. We've got a freshwater pool for bathing, if you'd like to clean up before returning to your travels... She proposed quietly, sweetly. She knew that, if she'd been in the raven's position, she'd want the mud off of her as quickly as possible. Then again, she would understand the raven's potential hesitance towards this idea - it wasn't like there were places elsewhere to freshen up.

a name, a title. they were like none she'd heard before, and once again, her intrigue sharpened. of queens and fairies, of stories told long ago. Gib dem Volk nicht deinen Namen, Tochter. the wraith dips her muzzle in quiet agreement, a sweep of her ear serving to belie her gratitude. 

yes, it would have been just as easy to find some unclaimed place to clean her limb, but something about the woman invites her to follow. and so she steps forward, willing to follow the queen from this place, hoping too to catch a glimpse of her fairies and her realm.

Despite the unstable, soppy ground, the girl tip-toed a small dance in excitement. There was so much she still wanted to ask, but if the raven truly was a mute, there was no point in asking questions that required something else than a yes or no. This made having a conversation hard - the fae was not one of simple thought, satisfied with the minimum. It was for that reason why she'd become so attached to Dante, who's thoughts never ended as he talked on and on about what was going on in that head of his. Then again, her relation with her mute owl told a different story, like she craved the silence and stillness, proving that it could be just as powerful.

Where are you... — I mean, are you going far? She asked, consciously making it a closed question. She looked over her shoulder as she motioned for the other to follow, leading them out of the marsh and toward her forest.