The murky water laps at the vixen's slender legs when she comes to a halt before the towering figure. Her gaze is focused on one of the runes scratched into the obsidian, and she is so transfixed by the image she forgets all about the whining mosquitoes. Could this be? The witch tentatively touches her nose to its surface and takes a hasty step backwards just to be safe. No change occurs, no brilliant spectacle of light or burst of telekinetic force, and the small patch of water that had cleared from her movement slowly regains its thin blanket of algae. The little witch frowns at the obelisk, perhaps you have been inactive too long. I expect more of you. Her disappointment is interrupted by a cacophony of coughs, and the loose bun at her crest falls against black ears as her head swings down towards the water.
It takes a few moments for the hag to catch her breath, but in the midst of her coughing a bright trail of light below the water catches her eye. Fish. Yes, I am not alone. Her black crown raises immediately, and her eyes follow their gleaming scales as she pulls herself onto the muddy bank. Strange. I thought that fish were smarter than that. A patch of water further up from the bank shimmered with the same silvery sheen as the fish had. With the obelisk momentarily forgotten, the little witch makes her way towards it. Her hooves leave deep impressions in the earth while she skirts around the trunks of ancient willows.
The witch loses her footing only once before plunging into the bog again. A coal-black hoof paws at the silt beneath the water to free the bundle of gold and silver coins lying below. Rather than risk disease by grabbing them with her mouth, Yana takes the time to drag them on land with her foot. With that task settled, the hag stands hunched over her prize as if to protect it. But from what?
A voice sets the witch to full alert, and her black crown rises swiftly to maximum height. Grey eyes lock onto the winged figure first. A man dusted in gold as I am in stars. And some kind of adornment on his muzzle... Interesting. She drags her gaze from the ring in his nose to his wings, noting the size of them. Large wings for a large man. And a lengthy tail to suit. Yana is careful to keep her face neutral as she studies the black stag, but her feet betray her discomfort as they trod the ground. Even without his wings he dwarfs her in size, and his gold-dusted coat does not hide the lean muscle beneath it. What is even more disconcerting is the manner in which he speaks: he is like a child in a man's body, or perhaps foreign to the land, as I am. She would have to tread carefully with this one.
"Greetings, soldier. What brings you to such a place?" She is careful not to verbalise her claim of the swamp. The witch cannot hope to win a battle against this behemoth. And by the sounds of it he may have brought a friend.
{I'm sorry I'm still so rusty. ;-; @Kaladin}
