Brood

Her song would guide him to the northern reaches of their territory, one of the few places that still bore minor signs of frosting; summer had brought with it the somewhat unsuspecting change of sweeping emeralds and lush vegetation, calling forth the roaming hooves of elk and prey creatures alike. She was a pretty thing; her pale elegance and simplicity only to be the kind Isardis would proudly swoon over, sallow women had always withheld a weakness within his possessive mind. He had remembered the banshee?s name, but he hadn?t known much more of her, not that it particularly made a difference.

He would sway towards her, seamlessness evident within every stride, the upmost care taken to suggest magnificence; forever aware of the eyes that would follow him, seek his radiance. A brittle leer would begin to fold the coral corners of his maw, a faint rolling of amusement echoing from the deepest chasms of his throat. ?I do hope you have reason to interrupt me from my slumber, miss sallow,? he would continue towards her, no reservations taken as the albino would cease barely a meter from her touch, ?Not that I mind answering to such a pretty minx.?