The fuzzy little ears on Erthë's head nearly disappeared in the tousled curls, and she looked less than friendly when she appeared before the moon-child. The sour look she gave him was blood-shot and red rimmed, the disheveled feathers and snow-laden back suggesting that she had been asleep when the Roc had found her. Not that it had been a very pleasant one; as usual her dreams were filled with stalking shadows, the sleep fitful and offering little in way of true rest. But it had been sleep, and it was precious enough that she wasn't happy to be woken from it regardless the reason...

For it to be Mesec of all people that disturbed her didn't exactly make her mood improve.

"I would say 'good morning', but it's neither morning nor particularly good" she said, with a hoarse voice more befitting an individual four times her age. She made her way gingerly through the snow, the limp in her gait more painfully obvious than usual and punctuated by sour grimaces whenever the snow proved deeper than anticipated and brought on a jolting impact with the frozen ground beneath. Stopping with a good deal distance left between herself and Mesec, Erthë adjusted her wings and eyed the man suspiciously, too tense to hide it even if she had been in a mood for politeness (read; fake cordiality).

"What do you want?" she asked him, blunt and none too polite.

The spectacle at the glacier was still fresh in her memory, and though she would have loved to forget about it the young girl simply couldn't. It hurt to much to recall how she had been continuously shot down, not just once but several times. Her warnings had been disregarded, her suggestions frowned upon, and to make matters worse she had managed to disappoint her Goddess. It had been a disaster, the only good outcome being Mauja's safe return to the herd, and in her eyes it was all Mesec's fault. If only he hadn't been there, flaunting his monstrous form for everyone to see and hogging all the good parts, Erthë would not have been told off!

It rankled, it stung, and though she somewhere in her subconscious mind knew she was being unfair, it felt really good to have someone to blame everything on. She did not want to be reasonable, she did not want to make peace; she wanted to be angry and hard and cold, clinging to her bad memories as though they were precious treasures.

Letting go would mean she would have to own up to her own inadequacies, and who wanted that, honestly?

_________________________________________

Waiting for the rain I'm bracing for the thunder
A twig that wouldn't sway in the wind