The hag’s legs sink knee-deep in the snow as she follows the faerie. Her eyes track its movements, noting a distinct lack of footprints as it flits across the powder. Those with a more cynical mind might be weary of a creature that appeared out of nowhere, beckoned them to follow it, and left no trace of its existence as it led them further onto an island that had no regard for the natural order of things. Yana would argue that no great discovery was ever made by listening to the little voice that pleaded you might get yourself killed if you go too far.
Thus, the dark girl presses onwards, abandoning her reservations and taking up conviction in its place.
She ignores the cold that seeps into her skin, sending tremors across it like ripples on a starlit pond.
She ignores the harsh cough that climbs up her scarred windpipe, forcing its way out to mingle with the chilly air.
What she cannot ignore is the sudden appearance of the bespectacled man – and that the masked spirit vanished as soon as he arrived.
Green eyes lock onto blue ones, matching the furrowed brows and harsh scowl that line the stranger's face. Misty breath engulfs her as she examines him, her expression revealing nothing save her annoyance at the man who has cost her quarry. To an onlooker it may appear as if they were angry reflections of each other, but to the hag they were simply two beings caught out in the snow.
Though she certainly doesn’t trust him, the witch is compelled to burden this ruffian – for who else could a bumbling fool of a man be than a ruffian? – with her best attempt at conversation. Perhaps to someone else, someone with a trained eye and penchant for reading people (or to literally any soul who ever bothered to step foot outside of their waterlogged home), the stout man with the stern expression could be more than just a random encounter; he could be an ally, a friend, or, for someone with purely analytical reasons, an untapped source of knowledge with secrets about the island. At least this way her voyage will not be in vain.
When at least she speaks, her words are gravelly and low, “Who is this, who has cost me my prey? And what are those things doing on your head?”
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