Much to my growing disappointment, another soul is creeping out of the woodwork. To my frayed nerves it sounds like those muffled hooves are closing in for trouble. For one single gut retching moment, a wave of hot panic flutters this heart faster -- wary pools cast a hard glance at my bangled company...attempting to answer a question without words. Was his friend coming for an ambush? The unseen shadow advances, along with my overactive imagination; despite every tendon screaming their choice of fight or flight my wings resist the desire to rapidly unfurl, carry me up and away before these bastards figured out what's what.

Had the overhead canopy not be a net above us...

The base of my skull begins to throb, anticipation. Antlered crown rises a notch higher. I'm socially and emotionally vested to glance over, acknowledge the other, when he breasts into view; though there is no smile upon these lips -- forced or otherwise. Surprise, surprise. A pale youth comes forth, his dappled flesh attractively spilling soft fragments of moon glow and the misty sheen of downy feather slack at his side. Those dull gems locked to mine and all hope of the younger one continuing on his way, vanishes.

Yet thankfully, there is no sign of malice. I spare a sideways view to my first unwelcome...whatever he was. Noting he seems to find the lad unfamiliar.

Oh lucky me...

I hadn't asked for a tour guide. Though a friendly guide was better received than a not so friendly gangbanger. Once the imaginary threat had passed, a crawling itch crept up my spine, (one that only grew the more it was thought about, and denied.) This body had an outstanding urge to bend around and see if the tree we stood beneath was indeed bare boned. Maybe there was a previously unnoticed sign or marker that said in some forgotten language, "Sleep under this tree if thou would like to be verbally mauled by the rude and young. :) Have a cheery night!"

"Uh..." the dusty hybrid was welcoming me (us) to Helovia and he hailed from a place called, 'World's Edge.' Wonderful. Far from delighted, my lips move to offer a dry, "I'm Camon." Acknowledgement alone felt extremely rude, so very gracelessly I tacked on a polite, "Thanks..." Holding the weight in a conversation wasn't my strongest capability. Though since neither fellow appeared to be trotting off anytime soon and curtsey the request of our unnamed company, my mind fishes out a question -- perhaps the only one of any curious significance, "There was smoke rising from the hills north of here...?"