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The stillness of the cold air makes you shift uncomfortably on flaky hooves, red tipped ears rotating like satellite dishes, never allowing a single howl of the wind so go unnoticed; the Reaper's dark gaze never lands on your for more than a second, but when it does, you can feel your jaws tighten as if he were about to lunge forward. Glass eyes flicker between Sacre and Tanvadi, the colt thankfully doing all of the talking while you and the girl take up space. A pang of jealousy digs into your brain while the red stained boy talks; he sports charisma and what appears to you to be bravery, while you stand silently behind the young man and the Fire Dancer, threatened by the mere presence of power.
Once your name falls from Sacre's dark lips, you nod respectfully. 'Deimos.. Deimos... Deeeeeiimmmmooossss' We murmur as we shuffle through the list of names and faces that you may recall from your short period of time within the snowy walls. Papers dance about in your skull as they're pulled from dusty document boxes, twirling to the ground and landing in messy piles that we don't intend to clean up. "The Basin is good." A man of few words, apparently, and a face you cannot remember from your childhood. We slump in our filthy corridors, waiting for this meeting to play out. In response to our failed attempt, your bloodied snout drops slightly, horned skull no longer held at a nervous height.
"What do you need crafted?" the Lord finally questions after rolling the question around for a moment. Meanwhile, another face appears from behind the shoulder of the Reaper, a feminine head full of hair and bright eyes. She greets the lord, then introduces herself as the Weaver for the Basin, Rhiannon. Ruby eyes squint against your curly forelock before you are able to shake them out of the way, Ouija curling around your right foreleg with a thousand questions buzzing through your brain as she chatters like a toddler. 'Why you nervous?' Finally she was putting together sentences rather than single - usually incorrect - words and terms. You glance down at the black-eyed kit, lips tightening while you do so.
You're not quite sure yourself why you're nervous.. Perhaps because you always are? Or maybe because the Reaper could easily take all three of your lives in an instant. Maroon eyes look up, staring at the freezing copper man that towers over the meeting.
"Voodoo." 'Ouija.' 'Voices'
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