The winter witch arrives upon a peculiar scene, her laughing breath caught in a hiss of surprise; the arc of the landscape mellows to reveal a gathering, one of dozens, which Beloved eyes with wariness not entirely foreign to the cryptic maiden. Fear does not cross her heart, does not stay her arrival; rather, the unknown draws an elusiveness from her, bi-hued eyes wetly flickering across the hole scene.
One did not live through empires falling into rubble, through flames devouring whole worlds, if she were not cautious, and clever.
Her lips twist into a lopsided grin as the evidence draws her to the conclusion that, this, whatever it is, is
safe. A tittering giggle accompanies the delicate lines of the she-wolf returning to life, her endless grace delivering her to the base of the treasure bedecked tree. From here, she again observes.
Gifts of a personal variety make their way up the boughs by beast, by maw, by blade. She watches each with a wonder, her own figure draped only with a single strand of abyssal pearls. A contemptuous hiss is drawn from her, however, at the thought of
that, her dainty hooves swiftly pulling her out away from the crowd.
Digging through snow to earth, and rutting through its black wetness with a bubblegum nose, the wench returns to the scene with a lightly cupped stone, which is unremarkable but for a single, river worn hole through its top. Biting down viciously on her tongue, she allows her life fluid to gently ease itself over the rock, rolling the thing about in her mouth for good measure, so that when her turn at last arrives, the madly giggling damsel places, rather than something pretty or valuable upon the boughs, a bloodied rock.
"The blood of Beloved," she decrees to the turtle before dancing to vanish back among the crowd, her smile twisted, and peculiar.
[ OOC: Beloved puts a blood and subsequently saliva covered rock on the tree. :'D ]
BELOVED
how can you look down on me
when you are buried under my feet?
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