#rescuemiriam

(resumed)

They move away from the sparse trees and snow fall landscape, it grows more autumn like, as if a spool was unwinding the wrong way. Leaves are back on the trees, but they are red and orange and yellow. A promise of frost rather than the actual thing. The path thickens, andd that's good for them, more silver to shield. But it is still not what any would call broad.

"Have you gone this way before?"

Questions, always... even if her sister has a crooked tongue.

"I've died bit by bit on silver nooses as I felt a tightening, but this gallows is not worn with many shards of my flesh," She answers.

"Poetic, at least."

A smile, "if one must lie, poetry is better than growing noses?" Hopeful

"I don't know how much I can help you, but there must be places beyond his grasp. I know I could have stayed hidden, had I been able to bear it..."

"Longarmed the kin of Lugh and the hounds do not bay at night alone" She shrugs haplessly

"But they have few friends. Fewer friends than enemies..."

"Perhaps I could get a charm for thee..."

A tilt, "As charming as thee?"

"More. I am not so charming. Charmed, mayhaps."

"Lucky, even."

A smile at that, "Yes, that is why you are despised by all who know you and so alone normally." A roll of her eyes "Green are my eyes to see you so, but also a smile betrays at your joy. Odd that?"

"Earl has strange eyes. He sees as others do not." A pause. "But you should not be so alone. That isn't fair."

"I have no unicorns" an admission, "But then there is more to flight than the blow of the wind. You could get me such a charm?" Cautious

"It is beyond my skill. But I know the maker, aye. It is not for snakes, but I am serpent-blooded, am I not?"

"is that what you think?" A question is not a lie so she can say it

"You are my sister." She gums on her lower lip, an odd mix of thoughtful and stubborn. "Golnaz - she is a snake, stutter-tongued. He is a snake. But a House is not writ on a name... not in common blood... it must be chosen."

A nod, "A twisted crown thinks itself grander than a well made beret, and not all gemstones are welcome in said crown's adornment. You are part shine by blood, but no part of scale unless you swear to the fang, the whole fang, and naught but the fang. God help you."

"And thee?"

"I bear no mark, not even handsome tendrils of useless flesh instead of an arm. Though a weakness of will or the plagues of luna may also marr them, for we not of the shining set, it is normally a maiming done to beautify."

She parses, a line between her brows. "Aye..."

Apologetic look, "I am a bold cassandra on the best of nights, and others? I am ambassador for the broken tower of man"

"No... no, apologize not. Apologize no more than you would me, for whispers and silence."

"I wish to know you. But I think... I think you know me? That you have watched?"

A soft smile at that, but then, "watched as skillfully as thee? Nay, but I know those who watch others and they leave such careless words in my ear."

"We spiders, we are experts in watching. Though.. oh, you would laugh. Samhain past, two years, I went as a moth. I had such lovely dusty wings..."

She does laugh, while not the chuff sounds of Zara, it is a soft breezy laugh none the less as if she had learned to wisely keep moments of joy subdued.

The sluagh touches one of the red leaves, idly looking around the changing landscape before checking her compass again. The edge of her wrath has softened in long walking.

A weakness over takes Zara as she touches the tree's leaf and spines tiny and needle like latch into her skin and Zara feels her blood being drawn out of her as if at a hospital. The leaf grows not red, but green, as if life is going into it!

A muffled sound and she tries to pull her hand away.

It's hooked! She can't...

A thin blade strikes where the leaf starts, and Zara is freed.

A thin but sharp knife is in the Moth Pooka's hand

She hisses, pulling harder - stumbling a step when the blade hits instead.

Zara's dizzy.. almost falling off the silver

OOC: Wits Plus Athletics

(( 3,2,7,4,4, 9 [2 successes]))

BIC: She finds her balance and does stumble off the silver. Ginny looks to her worried, "Are you dead?"

Concern in her tone

"....I... aye..." A shaky nod, breath trembling.

"Thank you."

She puts a hand on her and steadies her looking over her carefully, then nods, "Well, now we know why there are no shrikes in these brambles eh?"

She nods again. "Traps. I was unwary."

The pooka considers saying something, but then seems to reconsider, and instead just nods walking with her but now they avoid the low hanging leaves.

And the compass leads them on.

"Mayhaps, when this is done, you could come visit... my family has little blood in it, but they are family."

"My Uncle, he would criticize thy weaving. But that is the way of nockers... Mama, though, she would feed thee. She is happy when she can play hostess, I am afraid my palate does not deal her sensibilities much grace."