She wades through the dim swamp with Pan, the final vestiges of sleep only just beginning to slip from her body. It is only when the shadows begin to grow, enough to cast the bog into near black, that Yana appears.
In the black, her star-white dots masked by mud, the witch is a being held together only by shadow and the will of the fetid waters in which she made her home.
The flower girl sighs, soft and suitably chastised, for indeed it was late and she would also be most perturbed by a someone knocking upon her door this late. Unless it was – Florentine shakes her head, to clear such thoughts from her mind. It had been increasingly had to stay away from the Night King since his note. Her yearning grew with every beat of her strange new heart and her breath was little more than a flutter when thoughts of him pervaded her.
Florentine’s lips curl as Yana speaks and she remembers the first time they met upon the Sussuro Fields, “It is true,” the flower girl turns to Pan, adding unnecessary truth to the witch’s comment. “I have only ever seen Yana out of the swamp twice in the whole time I have lived here.”
Sweeping her gaze back to the slender black witch, beautiful, even with the mud adorning her skin. “How has your home been suiting you? We are grateful for all your work so far. Dusk’s mastery of healing is becoming renowned and that is due to you.” Her words are filled with adoration, with respect. The Dusk girl’s skills were meager by comparison and yet she knew what art – what skill- it took to save a life and nurture the sick.
Her lilac eyes, impossibly dark in the gloom of the Swamp, flit to Pan before returning to Yana. “He will be a good pupil, but tell me what it is you ask of me. I will, of course, help where I can.” With that her lips press to the curve of Pan’s nape, a gesture of affection, of encouragement for the boy who was her friend, even before her birth.
@Pan @
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
