Wapun Meadow tears of blood

Olive accepted the macabre paint upon her visage with the grace of a wolf who had taken a thousand communions in her lifetime — she was quick to take to ceremony, once she knew what was kosher and what was not. Offense was not something she wanted to make during this night. 

His whispered prayer steeped her consciousness and she succumbed to it completely; entirely, entranced by the story and the pomp. In her mind, the druid prayed to her own gods, nameless as the were — whether they went by the fengari, or erastia, or any other title mattered not to her — and she wished and beseeched the gods for a myriad of things, a new start being the first and foremost.

When they festivities subsided naturally, and the prayer’s spell was lifted, the sylph stole into the forest and sat in silence for days, completely osmosing into the darkness of the place, thinking about the priest and priestess she met upon the blood moon.