Wild Berry Meadow in den Weiden werden unsere Träume klingen

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maybe @Aries?

she is careful, pulling berries from the greenery with conscious grace, moving slowly as not to tear the scabs that cling to the underside of her throat. the shadow longs for the hunt, the taste of something still-warm and well-won. the healing tissue grows stronger, but she knows better than to subject it to the vigour of a hunt. 

she had left the earth-bound spirit that was her companion early that morn, though would be certain to return. a life-debt was owed, and binding the pair even more tightly was the intrigue the sylph sparked in the wraith, the kind that had her content simply to watch the way she moved, the practiced way in which @Awenfen tended to her, the ethereal lilt of her voice.

Aries lingered as a phantom might; soundless in excursion, minacious in character. 

The afternoon was as any summer hour, and the man's stomach had begun to empty. Even a soldier swathed in ambiguity must soon eat to retain the bulk of his weight for abhorrence that his strength should ever fail him - it was this thought in mind that led his trek upwards through the flatlands, in pursuit of viable prey, a meal to satiate the augmenting hunger. When his task had been accomplished, with daunting dignity had he weaved amongst the meadow's vegitation, until the passing of a figure had averted his glacial gaze.

Vigilance anchored them within view. She harvested berries from the undergrowth with couth elegance, finessed in her caution. Idly, harboured with oncoming boredom, the Svartell simply began to observe.

Still, though, he remained wordless.