Tili's arrival at the beginning of a festival quite suited her temperament. Nor did her new-ness keep her apart from the festivities. She stuck her nose in wherever she felt like it, helping with this or that during the early parts of the day. Her intention had been to sweat by firelight, dancing and showing this youngsters that an old broad could keep up with the best of them. Her own people had danced their joy during the harvest and the planting- she had been born during one such time and so such things held a special place for her. It was, after all, her birth season.
Muzzle damp with cider, she paused at the edge of the festival grounds and saw off a ways another fire glowing, a lone figure silhouetted in fire. The ivory mare twitches her shaggy tail, head tilted a little to the side as her strange eyes study the vignette. Then with little grace and sudden decision her short lakes move into action. She trundles towards the lonely bonfire. Her wings are tucked back along her sides in easy carriage, and no string of pots clatters against her shoulder this night. She has every intention of remaining in the Dawn Court so she feels little need to carry her paints with her.
The firelight casts weird shadows over the mare's freshly painted face. The pattern is the same as it always is- charcoal caps her forehead and stripes her jaw, a spot of scarlet between her eyes. Just past her eyes, the black smudges into brilliant orange and yellow, with spots of woad blue on the sides of her muzzle. A scarlet strips extends down to her velvet black muzzle speckled with the grey of age. For the occassion she has even painted her throat in brilliant yellow framed by orange and scarlet, and her shoulders bear smudges of blue and lavender. Tonight she bears not only the crown of the king of birds but his mantle as well.
The gods are close on occassions like this and it does well to honor them.
The brilliant paint would symbolize to her own people what her role in this world was. To the gods it showed that she accepted her role as messenger, rejoiced in it and shared it. To her alone, it was an affirmation of identity.
The words of the grey woman's chant ring out in the autumn night. Tili pauses at the edge of the firelight, listening. She does not wish to interrupt before the chant is finished, a thread of respect one priestess to another. When it is done though she steps forward, wings flicking out momentarily to catch the play of firelight on ivory and charcoal feathers before again they settle against her sides. White eyes edged in sclera the color of fresh blood crinkle a little with amusement as she come fully into the light. They fix upon the witchy woman.
"And does the fire show you visions?" Her voice is coarse, almost a bray and perhaps overly loud for the solemnity of the situation. There is no malevolence there though, only humor and curiosity. "Careful what you ask for on a night like this with the gods so close."
@Ygraine
