[P] the walls that hide us [yana]

[Yana]

take a trip to your dark side go on and have a good cry She pauses for only a second to heed her queen's words before returning to her work. The occasional flicker of the girl's dark ears are a testament of her attention to their conversation, though her primary focus is on constructing a net with her pile of cords. Lengthy white tresses obscure the vision of one dull green eye, but the witch is too enveloped by her work to care. The starry girl stares intently at the floating tendrils, urging them to do her bidding as she analyses the other mare's words. My hand in what? She furrows her brow as she tries to coax one fibrous rope into a knot around another. Her teeth start to grind together both in concentration and in discomfort with her leader's blue gaze surveying her progress. She lacks the dexterity that a master would showcase, but the practice she has had braiding the cords does not fail her in this new task of tying them together. The process is slow-going, and rather than draw more attention to her inadequacy to the tall bi-colored beauty she mumbles, "Yes, aid. I require aid." The distant croak of toads fills the uncomfortable silence following her admission. Nervousness settles upon the black tar of her hide like a swarm of gnats, her skin flinching at their persistent touch. The witch suddenly finds her mouth dry and she licks her lips: perhaps in an attempt to find the right words to say in the delicate hairs surrounding them. Never an eloquent speaker, she pierces the pungent atmosphere with a cough, "T-tie them like this." A leafy cord slowly bends in on itself to make a small loop. The end of it curls around the section it overlaps a number of times before feeding itself through the small tunnel it has made, resulting in a noose with a 3-foot long tail. Green eyes briefly peer up at blue ones to gauge their expression. The moment doesn't last long -- for the witch is too anxious about displeasing the stronger mare -- and her gaze quickly drops to the damp moss between her hooves. The starry girl takes a deep breath. This is your sovereign. She offers you sanctuary. This is not the enemy. She is nothing like your mother, and you owe her an explanation. "I'm making traps. My Lady." She peeks at the taller damsel again, this time willing herself not to look away. The hag wonders if the confidence her painted sovereign radiates is transferable: she can benefit from some of it right now. "Not for intruders, mind you. But for my... studies." This admittance undoes her: the head that was previously bowed by the weight of intimidation -- now unburdened by it as the witch drains herself of unease with every word -- lifts to provide the warrior with all the undivided attention she deserves. Her little project can wait for the time-being; it's not as if it is trying to restore a kingdom to is former glory. "I'm sure you have little time to devote to a witch's whims. I do appreciate help, but only as long as you voice your own concerns whilst tying these with me." @Rannveig

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