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The lady is not overly happy to share space with him, but Chester has never cared whether or not someone wants to speak with him. If his interest is caught, he will lure the recipient of his interest into conversation somehow, even if it is necessary to follow them about for hours whist throwing out riddles and remarks. This time, such actions are unneeded, for she joins him and gives a reply to his strange comment. “Those who are never lost have never truly roamed.” He pauses a moment, giving her time to take in his words before speaking again. “Are you sure that it is you considering the paths, and not the other way around? Or that the paths even exist?” Amused, he thinks back to a similar conversation, spoken among evergreen trees with a unicorn bearing the antler of a stag. The elder had known how to play the game, a rarity here in this Helovia land. The wise one was not here however, and so attention was returned to the black femme striding along beside him.
Bored with simply trying to slog through snow that was chest-high to him at its lowest points, he instead chooses to leap through the deep drifts, throwing up sparkling white trails in his wake. Why such a thing would be easier is unknown, and perhaps he does it simply because it pleases him to do so. Chester’s motives are always rather erratic, determined by some unfathomable logic that none but he is aware of. The little one is a contradiction, both incredibly wise and unbelievably foolish, completely mad and completely sane at once.
Who does the Wing-Hunter most resemble? He ponders the question as he bounds along, comparing her to those he had once shared a homeland with. Certainly not one of the sillier inhabitants. The queens or the duchess? She did have a regal air about her, but he still is dissatisfied. The Bandersnatch? Yes, that is the correct answer. The dark girl reminded him of the ferocious hunter, sleek and camouflaged well by shadows. Tiny head bobs in a nod, pleased at having come to such a conclusion. Tweedles, the Knight, Jabberwocky, and now the Bandersnatch, all have been found. The moon-grin that he is known for splits his face. His old family may be gone, but slowly he is finding members suitable to form a new one.
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a .f r o s t e d. heart is filled with cracks [open]
