Weaving a web..

[leotah]

-Closing in on the marshlands her toes began to seep into the acrid smelling swamp tinged soils, her nose lifting trying to catch a passing draught to ease the horrid scent. The journey so far had been arduous and her appearance though she had never previously cared for it, certainly showed now. Her long, white mane now unkempt and practically ratty-the ends curled in gnarled tangles and the odd twig lay displaced within odd compartments of knot.

Lifting her hand she wiped some sweat from her forehead, which had begun gathering in beads, pouring in trickles along her dirtied complexion, leaving trails of clean skin in their wake. She looked to her nails, which shone pearl like in the twilight phospherence the swamp waters played off themselves and upon anything within close proximity. The fog itself seemed to ebb with the brightness of the eerie lighting that consumed the wilds. She stood in place and watched it a while, her hand upon her dagger in habit, her eyes curious, her breaths less laboured and now steadied.

The past few months had shown her alot. Her journey from Ju'Gini had taught her a lot about patience and how far determination can lead a soul, if desperate and willing enough to unfold all impulse and surrender to the flow of time.

After her pause she continued on, heading right towards the deep end of the forest, where the light darkened and tapered off into myriads of mishapen, sharp shadows. Her hand gripped the dagger at her side, this time by instinct. It was the only way left to go, short cuts would not 'cut' it this time-

[leotah]

-Her ears thudded as she awoke to a dappled-shadowed caress, eyes fluttering to adjust to dim odd light. Her sleep had been restless and what she had dreamt, bold. It indicated her stride would need to quicken and her thoughts would soon clear. But with so much interrupting from pangs of fear, she also knew confidence in her abilties would have to be hastily sought.

She stood slowly and moved a bough from her way, stepping under it and into the pinhole light inching in whispers from the canopy above. She felt a release, a renewed optimism with the beauty of the deep Woods surrounding her. She was pleased that her youth had readied her for this time, this journey, this seemingly never ending trek. She smiled absently and gathered her skirts, stepping over some fallen logs and heading off deeper into the fern confines and birch overhangs. Where the shadows danced and nakedly presided over lights intervening.

Shuffling along she kept her mind focused on everything she passed and everything she could muster from it-sights, sounds, scents both tangy and sour, aromatic and moist, textures of the barks and leaves, to aid her in knowing how deep she was getting within the spell of midnight greenery and chill-blossomed winds, whose trends clambered up her arms and the backs of her legs; tattletales of sensation that sent shivers through her entire body with their fervour.

Disembarking from her voyage of well-lit yonder, she now basked in the shadows. She almost felt ill a moment at the fear tugging at her intuition, but she pinned her brazen spirit in place and pressed on, not certain of her pending discoveries but willing to make them, this belief sterling as the wane of silver moon pressing against the blackest of nights.


The Lionshead Doorpress, of the most ornate design, eyeing it she lifted her hand and touched its cool carved surface, thinking of the craftman ship- a fine hand, a superior craftsman aided by a superior silversmith-a mighty twosome if not yet warriors.

She smiled fondly at the work, that embroided metal, and played her finger tips along the woolen sleeve of her groomsgirl shift. Her eyes ran along it, it was naked with no design, no intricate pattern, just a mess of wool and lint, stubbled fabric that was rough against her skin. Void of pattern it hurt her heart, not so much the blank canvas of material, but that she missed the wilds so much.

Dropping her cerulean gaze upon the door she sighed. The building was abandoned and had her parents discovered her little outing she was sure to have her hide red as sunset...


Gasping, Leotah awoke from her memory-cursed dream. Blinking she shook her head and tousled her hair madly, trying to reason with the sudden reverie. What had this meant? Why was she contemplating her past?

Resting back against a low birch, she sighed softly, which then became a sudden yawn. Sleep filled her thougts again and soon she was drifting, beneath the shade of a tree, somewhere deep within the Woods-

[leotah]

-The storm had gathered in the north-western provence of Wielyn sometime during the night. She had smelt it on the wind, but being so far within the Deep Woods and back off the swamp, where weather's precedence sunk away and temperatures played their own game, humidity accruing its own stance in the wilds, she was sure it would not affect her sojourn.

Lifting her face to the canopy, acknowledging her poor forecast, she let drops of rain pelt her face and shoulders, dampening her blouse which now clung to her curvacious figure, revealing a tight wound cloth keeping her breasts tight against her chest and her posture stiffened. She had taken to wearing it to force herself to consume less and elongate her flailing posture. She needed to be as strong and fit as she could, and learn to ration the foods she found-berry and otherwise.

Continuing on she bit into the tart forest berries she had collected along the way, strewn within her hands a mattering of different hues of red, their juice bleeding into the lines of her hand and gaps of her fingers. Now sticky she grimaced and wiped it frantically on some bark. She did not want sticky fingers if she need clutch that dagger swiftly!


..It was then that a pang groped at her heart and the touch of butterfly-wing faintness tickled her skin with gooseflesh. Something was there, just off, wavering in the brush, watching, eyeing, calculating...

Her sticky fingers drove down her wet top from where they had been perched beneath her chin, holding her face, eyeing the shadow-infested gathering of trees before her. She began sliding it from her hip.....-

[Blaize Deeziere]

Blaize flipped down from the branch, her knees still locked on it, so that she was dangling upside down. A deevish smirk cross her lips, as the young woman stood not to far away, looking all too jumpy for her own good. Cascades of red hair fell almost to the ground, and began to sway as Blaize rocked back and forth from the bough. She wondered for a bit if she should just leave the young one to her own devices, but then again what fun would that be?

With one good swing, she briefly righted herself into a sitting position on the branch, then slid off the other side, landing hard of her feet, not bothering to try to keep, in any stretch of the imagination, silent.

"C'mon, Ducky." She said, quietly, to the one crouching uncomfortably behind the tree. Lifting a hand, she called the fire to her fingertips, lighting up the immediate area. "Let's go have some fun."

[ValdeXuxa]

Her lips curled into a sneer, as she glared at the woman. "Stop calling me Ducky."

She had no clue what was keeping her with this daemon, except for the fact that Blaize had saved Val's life. Still, gratitude had it's limits. There had been nothing but trouble since she had joined the fiery vixen. Trouble seemed to be Blaize's forte, whereas ValdeXuxa tried very had to avoid it at all costs. Still, as easily as Blaize got them into trouble, she seemed to get them out, so here Val sat, in a dark smelly forest, scraped up, bruised, and aching. Her copper red hair was tangled, and she was baddly in need of a bath, but the thing that annoyed her the most is that she needed to pee, but she was not about to drop her pants when she could not see what might be slithering up to her bare bottom.

She was just wishing that the daemon would remember that Val did not have the same darkness vision as her, when Blaize's hand flashed with light, temporarily blinding Val. She blinked and stood, trying not to trip over anything as her eyes grew accustomed to the light. She followed after Blaize.

[leotah]

-Bending beneath another of the boughs of the low hanging Histermere Tree, a native of the Deep Wood, she eyed the brush intently, keen eyes drawing on any colour that stood out, not uniform with the surroundings. She loosened her grip on her dagger, trying to pick up the scents surrounding her. She hadn't wanted to make her stay in the Deep Wood very long, not as much for fear but for anxiety. She didn't enjoy the darkness very much after spending so much time in a darkened country house as a child. She longed for Light...


-gasp- Red flashed by and the dagger was again clasped tightly, this time unsheathed from the large notch of her leather belt, it's gleam sharp in the dappled darkness trickling across her face and arms. She stepped foreward, bracing herself inside, her face void of expression-

"Who goes there!?"-