From the sidelines she comes, her dark knight with the gleaming eyes and wolfish grin. There is a shyness Hotaru has not seen from her, an awkwardness that claims Rhiannon has never before found a fitting reason to dance. Hotaru took to it like a duck to water, perhaps it was the weak blood of her mother that made her desire the elegance of the dance and the companionship her daughter brought her. She easily slides her gaze between her huntress and her knight, keeping them in equal standing, though it is not so true in realism. Arya is her world. No maiden, martyr, or mage could strip that from her, nor could any be loved or regarded more dearly than her daughter. Her huntress was the only truly important soul in this war-torn blasphemous world. Were she ever troubled or harassed, Hotaru would be there to defend her, and teach her how to rip their hearts from their chests with the horns of her lineage. A queen, budding in the flesh of a princess, prepped to fling her decorative crown and behead the kingly puppet at her side to destroy the boundaries of gender and rule the ignorant and foolish. Bend and manipulate them into loyal soldiers fitting of her grandeur.

There was no other Hotaru could be more proud to dance with.

Rhiannon sways closer, and the buzz of her presence tingles in Hotaru's skin, an awareness she can't help. Her daughter speaks, jealousy written in the curves of her aristocratic face, possessiveness claiming her mother and warding away all suitors. Poison and venom in her tone. Focusing on her prodigy, she smiles, dancing close and breathing soft clove breath upon her daughter's cheek. "You are more important, my huntress. I would rather dance with you than any other." She smiles then, all sweetness and love wrapped in silver lining of a predatory promise that nothing would ever come between them.

Her paradise is burned to nothingness by a prickle of wrongness on her spine, and as the buck comes stumbling broken and shredded into the dance her hooves plant down and a snarl rises in her chest to challenge that of the headless predator latched onto the king of the forest. She braces herself, leaping forward until Arya is pressed safe at her flank, teeth bared and ears pinned, nares wide as her body vibrates with violence and protection. Watches as the stag stumbles, hears his bleating death cries without a single care. His suffering is nothing to her. The only importance was that her daughter remain safe from whatever horrid magic was rending the island apart. As it disappears she whips her tail in a slash against her belly, stalks in a tight circle around her daughter with eyes darting hawklike around the mass of bodies. As if awaiting the ghouls to reappear somewhere and threaten her precious parcel.

When all is assured to be safe she slowly drops her guard, pressing her muzzle to her daughter's skin as if ensuring she's safe, completely unharmed. "What the fuck was that?" she snarled, bristling like a wild cat. Turning to face Arya she regarded her seriously. "You and I, we fight together. Do not leave my side. Magic like this is sick and impossible to fight." She never once told Arya to run, to cower or to hide. No. They would fight together, mother and daughter, and come out the same way. Arya would not be taught to fear, to cower and flee. But she would learn to respect the magic of the foreign and the celestial.