The warrioress didn't usually come to the Deep Forest, it reminded her far too much of the Threshold. Too dense, too crowded. Suffocating. There was no room to stretch her wings and feel the breeze through her primaries, or tilt her face toward the sun and bask in it's glow. Salt kissed locks tousled by southern winds to wrap around her shoulders and into the wind. Here there's only a canopy of branches and leaves, and the filtered promise of freedom peppering through the trees in delicate beams of light.

It's seclusion she's after, her thoughts cannot follow her here like they can when she took wing. They float instead in the fringes, just beyond the brush line of the rolling hills of greenery she'd left behind. Ghosts which intended to return to her when she's had her fill of silence. Motherhood, her position in life, her woeful lack of well...everything. Atreus lingered in dutiful silence, the only sound from him the occasional ruffle of feathers and the sound of branches being assaulted by razor sharp talons. It's unusual, usually she is full of life, full of fire and yet there's a crushing, terrible feeling in her chest which restricted her. Seeping through the tendrils of their bond and colouring the world a dreadful shade of melancholy. The unseen force which stole oxygen from fire and left it smouldering, waiting for someone, something to bring it back to life. He remained quiet, curious, wondering who or what might make his bonded's spirits lift. Or at least distract her long enough from her harsh criticism of herself.

A murmured, inebriated voice pulled her out of her thoughts with a quizzical look. Inebriated being the word, because the sight she is greeted with could only be the consequence of sipping on a little too much of the good stuff. That, or the monolithic stallion had finally lost the plot, and had crafted a friend in the decidedly silent tree, whose now at the mercy of the drunken woes of a pissed up horse in need of love advice. What would a tree have to say anyway? Go home you're drunk? There's plenty more fish in the sea? Why couldn't you have picked the Oak, why me? Love is a fickle thing, it comes and goes like the seasons? Don't you dare piss against me like some uncouth barbarian? The latter thoughts provoked a short laugh from the amazonian as she impulsively moved towards the Warlord. This just might be the distraction she's looking for, if only to poke fun at the Stallion's current actions. She swallowed her self-pity, and masked it behind a mirthful gaze and confident strides.


"Do tree's give love advice now?" She smiled coyly, wings shifting leisurely at her sides. "Has it told you the one about the fish? I always loved that one." Neph added after a moment, horned head tilted to look at him underneath white framed lashes and then to the tree.


"Speech."