Son of a Scholar, the boy General; she hears his words with an ear lifted in loyalty, another toiling away at escape, and the whisper of the world beyond her immediate notice. He carries the bravado of youth, the arrogant sway and sweep of one not yet wearied by the steady pull of the river against his limbs, and like many things in this world, it is infectious enough to hold her attention.

A silver eye is cast on the others, the dark one with the sky-lit eyes, and the haggard man. It returns to the speaker at the fore when he quips of games, a notion which draws her tittering, unbidden laughter from where she’d bid it dwell, in whispers of silence. Both ears find him, now, the miniscule fleck of her pupil slimming into what seems to be nonexistence, so that she stares with quivering gaze, and haunting giggles, enthralled with the child’s amusingly simple tactics.

Beloved likes games, thinks the demon, wetting her lips, following the gestures of the night cloaked war-boy, and finding… trees.

Retracted are the whimsical bells of her amusement for the hiss of malevolent misunderstanding. Even when his words usher forth an explanation, her eyes remain narrowed, her maddened songs stilled for the rush of quiet contemplation. Assault the forest, bids her infant master, his nostrils curling insidiously as she turns her eyes back to the Scholar’s Son.

She finds him to be quite serious, a hot exhalation of regrets and chained hostilities ghosting the air about her sculpted features, her limbs moving to life beneath her. The first of them to rise to the pitiful challenge, she chooses the smallest of the trees, its branches tender, and supple, easily rendered splinters by the touch of one such as she.

About she dances within proximity of the pine, her haunches pulled up and around the steady point of her fores. Down drive her weapons, biting with clamorous thunks against the snow dusted boughs, which snap, and sever, or dangle meekly, clinging to their posts with stringy remnants of bark and twig. A voluminous cloud of glimmering powder rises about the assault, which gains as the reverberations from the attack shudder up the evergreen, tousling even more snow free of its hold. Thumping down upon her receding figure, the damsel bucks outwards with instinctual defensiveness at the harmless white, an outraged snarl (at having been snuck up on, of course) biting through the air.


[ OOC: ohmanohman I'm almost 100% caught up WHAT WILL I DO WITH MY LIFE NOW ]

BELOVED

how can you look down on me

when you are buried under my feet?