There are days the world comes to full colour from the night, from the greys under the moon to every colour of the rainbow and more. Today we have the fog, and so as it warms up the world will be born from this whiteness, as if it were art appearing on a three dimensional canvass. A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the hills. It suffocated every building and every tree at their base, swallowing every distant object and vanishing around every corner. It crept around the spider-witch ankles, so thick you could cut it with a knife, and she seemed shorter than usual and just as sinister. Her face moved a little too slowly, as she was taking in the surroundings more than anything else. From the first time she happened upon these eerie lands she knew she shall call them home; if she were honest, they were not different. The familiar odor, the familiar mist engulfing her/ Oh how she craved the macabre, the morbid. She welcomed it with her very being. Welcomed the drak forces of the crusades. Then she grinned. As she did so the temperature in the land fell a little. Even in the dim light of the stormy night they could see her bared murderous teeth. It was a cheshire grin of sorts, the kind that was so wide it was more as if she wanted to eat everyone rather than say hello. Come one, come all. Ghouls and fools without any rules. In the darkness of the swamp, only her cerulean eyes were visible, glowing like minature suns. Even in the dim light of the moon, she was - cat like, shadows engulfing her form, protecting her, yet not quite right. Beneath the two glowing azure eyes, was the grin that split the spider-witch face with it's rows of visious sharp teeth. Heed, and listen closely.

She curls through the mist, slipping down the rocks and quarrys so easily that she appears to float, even in her excessively pregnant state. By the looks of it, the children are due any hour now -- but for Leera, birth is not something that inhibits her. It's easy and natural and it is merely aiding souls onto this earth. So, instead of worrying about the labor pains, she scouts the lands. Regardless of Erövrare's idiotic rules, she's intent on leaving a building her own kingdom; kingdoms are only as strong as the land they're built upon. This place will not do. The wolfess sneers once, eyes disregarding it, but there's a drifting voice that piques her interest and she floats nearer. Two blazing blue moons dance before her, fixed above a smile, but the ghoulish riddles do not amuse her. "Listen closely, you say. And to what? More nonsense?" Leera had heard the shadow-black woman's rhyming earlier. "Where I'm from, if someone spoke such strangeness they'd have their tongue cut out. Do you fancy your tongue, my dear?" Not that she'll cut it out. Perhaps she's just teasing the spider before she makes her leave. It always feels good to be a bit bitter. speech action

Feminine. Perfume. Pregnancy. It hit her like a thunder before the other she-wolf could even collide her path with her own, before the bitch could even come to a halt and open her distusting mouth. She was the Oracle. The ghouls were her friends, the spirits were her family. Kill.Kill.Kill.Kill.KILL Shut up! the woman roared, a murderous and thunderous snarl escaped the back of her throat, the pit, the abyss of her vocal chords, sounding more like a lion than wolf. How lovely. You already wear the sstench of death. the spider-witch vocalized joyfully, a voice wrapped in honey and dipped in sugar; a smile grew upon her beautiful features as she creeped closer. Closer.Closer. Clossser. She came to a halt two to three tails before the other woman, inspecting her, observing her, registering her in her putrid mind. You speak about my tongue as if you know it. Pregnancy. Life. She took a deep breath of the bitch stench, rolling over her in waves, visibly and audibly moaning at it. Do you fancy your spawns, darling? You are closse. she spatted You are almosst at the term. she gasped, all the while circling her in rapid movements, her rapid way of speech becoming more of a blurr. Do you think you can take me like that? Do you? her brow rose in questioned as she began to circle her faster, almost seeming like she was floating upon the humid mist. DO YOU?! she growled thunderously, furiously, she did not care one bit that she was pregnant, she did not care one bit there was life growing within the bitch wombs. She was walking on thin ice and yet her pregnancy scent was...delicious Heed, and listen closely.

An ear turns as she watches the blackened woman, expression withdrawn and apathetic. The way the witch slinks near her, sizes her up, studies her with those bluefire eyes, it doesn't intimidate Leera. Instead, Leera assumes the witch is just delusional -- there were wolves like this back home. Perhaps the poor femme's eaten too many shrooms. Chocolate eyebrow flicks up when the witch starts to speak of her unborn. Ears flatten against her head but otherwise Leera remains stoic, waiting for the witch to finish. The other says she's close to term, her movements dizzying to Leera. "Thank you for your observation. I was not aware." She lets the sarcasm slide into the air. She watches the woman, ears flickering, curious about her now almost more than anything. "Fine. I shall listen closely, but only if you answer me this. What is one like you doing in the swamp? I have a feeling you're here for a reason, yes?" speech action

One, two, I am comeing for you. The spider-witch came to an abrupt halt on the right side of the bitch, cerulean gaze, seemingly to glow in the humid mist never left her swollent abdominal region. It interested her, it drawn her in and without knowing she was literally leaning in, her skull lowering in order to reach it with her snout but not quite touching it, only merely keeping it there for a few long breath, if allowed. Three, four, better lock your door. The sscent. The sscent! she barked and snarled to the world, her hisses could be heard by the entire region though they were soft spoken they were fanatical. She could get high on the scent alone. Sche could bath in it. She could rip it apart in piece and piece and piece fore it had to cumble and cumble and crumble. Five, six grab your crucifix. But no. That was not the case. She took a deep breath as she retreated from the bitch in heat. Another breath to compose herself. It was not unusual for the spider-witch to let the ghouls play with her mind and numb her senses but this time what was enough was enough. She was their Mistress not the other way around. She shall compose herself.  She closed her eyes for a moment. I am comm-- NOW Her visage was different. Visibly so. Her fanatic breaths and contours of her beautiful visage were no more, instead a ice cold demenour took its place, the cheshire grin was gone and in its place stood an apathic and stoic facade of a iron woman. It was like the melodramatic moments never happened, it was like this was another harlot all together. Heed, and listen closely.

The scent. Yes, the scent. Leera knows pregnant women have a certain perfume, a distinct fragrance that  sets them apart from the rest and tells the noses of the world that they are with child. It's heavy and unmistakable and the witch seems to be obsessed with it. Disconcerted, Leera pulls away from the ghoul, flattening her ears once again and this time peeling her lip back to reveal a row of white, needle-point molars. Leera doesn't fancy insanity. The insane are unpredictable, and when others are unpredictable there's no way of ensuring the safety of her unborn litter. The wolfess curls away into the night a few paces, really just attempting to leave the with altogether, but there is something still that haunts her. Leera pauses in the shadows, a single ear flicking back as she turns her head around to the woman. "Careful when you speak of my scent, woman." speech action

She would stand there, her beautiful features placid, pliant and yet cold, empty the way you could describe it was that she represented a corpse now, a dying vessel; no longer the fanatic, rapid she-wolf she presented at first. No. No, she was lightless, lifeless, as if the soul left her body to leave nothing but a shadow behind. What will you do, little rabbit? she questioned, her voice was like ice, cold and hard. Calculated to a T. She approached again, not enough to touch but enough for her cerulean gaze to lock into her own magenta one, seeking something. Something. Sorrow. Black. Of not earned sorrows was your life. And I see more in your future cutting deep as a knife. every single word was hissed, meant to cut into the woman using bare words. I am the big she shifted her weight, bad moving closer, she could feel her breath on her face wolf she spatted with a hiss, and if the other would not move, droplets of saliva would reach upon her beautiful visage of the ashen woman due to her hissing speech impediment. You are nothing but prey. she said defiantly, her crown moving to the side of bit in order for the smirk to pain her facial features once again though this time it was mild, tame. I am going to fuck you up. the woman mimicked a bite close to the other ear, if she had not moved. You should be careful with me, foul creature. she hissed, retreating her form a notch in order to leave the other enough place to respond, react, do something rather than throw her mouth right and left. She was a rabbit, prey. Nothing but a dog who barked at the wrong tree. Bark, that was all she did, bark but no bite. No flame. No spark. Heed, and listen closely.