She listened amongst the gale, the wild, winter winds, standing firm and strong amidst their petulant bellows and agonizing decibels, twisting her ears in every direction to catch the clamor of his voice (Mortuus Nox; no one she’d heard of or knew). Remaining within her pleasant demeanor, in the resonating, pulsing warmth, she fully intended to begin maneuvering along the incline of snow and ice, chisel their way back to her current shelter to await the halt, the cease, the pause in the cold weather’s unrelenting possession, when the stag’s movements appeared to stop altogether. Curious, constantly seeking knowledge and absolution, her cranium swiveled back toward the shadowed figure, and a shuddering sense of foreboding rankled over her frame, maddening, sinking, torturous and sinuous. Like an unwinding snake, a maneuvering asp, a serpent in the grass, a plunging knife cut through her mind and swept amidst the cold, brewing glamour, a vicious, paralyzing unknown – and she didn’t know what to make of it, how to react, what to do, or truly understand where it began or ended. Her eyes, usually fervent, eager, warm and cajoling, narrowed to a shrewd, wily, cunning length, might have matched Imogen’s waiting, foxy gaze back at the cave, may have signaled a warning, a sheen of potency layered and lacquered beneath her resolute, stalwart, valiant existence – drawing to the forced smile, the wild, untamed shakes, of Nox. She’d survived in the midst of savagery, of brutality, of chaos and bedlam for too long to be lanced and quartered by the unknown (a weighty, overbearing presence lodged somewhere nearby, contained, bottled, trapped and ensconced, threatening, indulging, vicious and vehement), but may have been staring death in the face – her stance grew a little less floret and a little more rigid, bound and taut with brutal songs and noxious sonnets, seizing the menacing, intimidating grasp of the enigmatic and plunging some of her own into the mix, the Songbird’s measure of deterrent. Not all fairy, not all fey, not all whimsical dreams and earthy laughter; her gaze swept into the shadows ranging over their frames, along the wispy tendrils of snow and ice, unsure of what lay beyond; voice crossing into the wilderness moments thereafter, calm and composed despite the anxious thrum, the apprehensive rush of her heart and mind. “Are you all right?” Perhaps he’d felt the strange, phantom pulse too, had taken it as madness or agony? Uncertainty was a heavy shroud, a toxic veil, and her eyes traced over to the chosen cavern, snug, safe, a sanctum, a haven, a sanctuary amongst the storm – wondering if it could protect and shield them from a course of devilry as well.

@[Mortuus Nox]