Previously Faust had never gone this far into the grove. He knew the smell of wetlands and swamps and he sought to keep himself out of them if he could.

They were filthy, stinking places that were hell upon the coils of his mane and sides. Always they left him feeling dirty just by proximity and put him in a poor mood. So what could draw the pristine angel to this muck filled hellhole? Maybe a sense of completionist determination? Or else curiosity for what he had previously discounted.

As foul as they were, he knew swamps had their treasures to be plucked and plundered. So now here was the Archangel, shin deep in freezing muck as he sought the next nearest solid ground to stand on. Silently he did curse himself for now waiting until the weather was warmer to explore further, but it would hopefully cut down on potential venomous and slithering things that were fond of being stepped on.

@Luideag

What was he doing in her swamp?

There is little to indicate he is being watched. Followed. Almost hunted and yet he is. The wraith of the wetlands had been out on a stroll, moving through the mire with little trouble. A part of what many called a moist hellscape, slipping through shadows, o'er muck, through the fog that often hung low even in the height of the day. Dappled pelt serving her well as she ventured through her home. Hiding her as she heard movement, found this one braving her bog.

And so the fae of the fen watched. Bristled at his presence, something, she knew not what, set her teeth on edge. It could simply be the damage from her past making her see danger where it was not. Yet, as her claws dug into the bark of the tree she had climbed(All the better to see you dear) she could not shake the feeling of unease. The sea witch watched, waited, to see if she would be noticed. If the massive male before her could sense the much smaller woman watching. Waiting. Wondering if he would feel the promise of death she posed if he dared cross her. Small she may be, but that was not something that should be taken lightly. Just as her instincts screamed at her that something, she had nary a idea of what, was off about him. It was probably just the nightmares of the past haunting her again.

Probably, but to say she was sensitive to the snakes in the grass was a bit of an understatement. She had been bitten once, and never again. A fool she would never be again, never blindly trusting. So she acknowledged it, stored it away in her mind, and then continued her careful observation. She would give him a chance to prove her wrong.

If he didn't, well, may the mire take him. May he be entranced enough by her that she could lead him astray, to be devoured by the murk around them.

image/code by saph

@Faust

The gaseous atmosphere of the bog had blunted the effectiveness of his nose, filling it only with the sulfurous fog that wisped around his ankles. So the lady above would remain hidden from at least that sense.

But he was not here to laze about and stroll idly, his other senses were alert and at best only partially affected by the environment. His ears still worked, but through a filter of insect and bird calls. The eyes worked best in this place, but even they could fall victim to the unpatterned pattern of the land. When something moved out of place he would first notice that with sight.

So when a particularly large shadow fell over the thick water from above, giving signal that he was not alone, he simply kept walking.

"You're a poor host if this is how you greet guests." Faust lifted his voice so that it could be heard above the buzzing din around them, continuing his muddy march out from the shadow of the tree with its mystery mass.

@Luideag

Generally the woman was a part enough of these lands that nary a soul noticed her unless she wished them to. Most of the smaller things had gotten used to her presence; she didn't often hunt here for that reason. To keep her shroud of protection that came from familiarity she had to go further afield to ring the dinner bell. However, she is not infallible. Such is the shadow that falls below, one which she quickly adjusts to, to hide, but it was too late. The man that set her teeth on edge noticed her. Bullocks.

As he continued, she ghosted after in the trees, keeping her eyes on him. Only taking more care to avoid casting shadows this time round. Not willing to let him escape from her sight. At his statement an eerie chuckle escaped the swamp hag. "A guest?"she asks him quietly, her tone not friendly, creepy even. Foolish, dangerous intruder. You've amused the witch, not a healthy position to be in. "You are no guest. I did not invite you into my domain. " she muses, pausing at edge of where the branch would support her. Casting gaze out and finds a branch near enough to leap to. So she does. Keeping up with his pace. "You seem more the infection seeping into a wound. " she says deadly quiet. Voicing her suspicions aloud.

image/code by saph

@Faust

Touché.

He could understand why this stranger would find outsiders wandering into her, well, nasty little stink bog, off-putting. There were no territory markers that he could smell, but there was quite a lot of smell going on here in general that could have hidden it. But surely he would have picked up something if it were occupied by a group.

She could be an individual, living freely in the wetlands on her lonesome. The lady certainly had enough charm to make that possible.

"It seems I invited myself then," He replied easily to her growlish tone, "But how do you know if I'm the infection or a flushing of the wound?" The Archangel finally paused, coming to stand on a solid patch of ground and turning his gaze to the trees one after another in a leisurely swivel. "What do you know of me?"

@Luideag

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This here was her lair, and while she didn't bother to mark her borders, all those who knew the lore of the land knew what sort of thing lurked here. Perhaps to some it is miserable, but it is her home. A fitting kingdom for one fallen as she. A place wrapped in murk and mire and mist that kept outsiders away. Led them to their deaths if they were not careful. Something that the woman appreciated. For it meant she was rarely disturbed by strangers who did not know of her. Of her bargains and deals, and even then one had to be desperate to partake. A perfect little personal hell in which she could wallow unnoticed, unwanted, and forgotten by a feminine pair who did not wish her to live. Or even if not forgotten, at least she would be deemed too much an effort to rid the world of when getting to her and stealing her breath, her life, meant traversing treacherous terrain.

It did not mean she would be so lucky with this one here. This venomous snake lurking here in her grass, dripping poison into ones ears and tainting the bog where he walked.

A sneer, her voice rising in a cruel singsong. "A guest must be invited by a host dear lad, and then, and only then do the guesting laws apply to you. You've been had." she points out in eerie tones. A promise and threat of sorts. He had not respected the laws of her kind, her people, and thus would not earn an ounce of protection from them. By her right she could do whatever she wished to the child lost in her mire, and she is tempted to do so once she had finished toying with him. "Intuition perhaps, but I know what festers when I see it"continues the swamp witch, pulling the cloak of the terrible role close. Covering herself so that it is all she is, all she can be in this moment. A shield for Anabel Lee to retreat into. All masks and players and cruel turns of phrase. She stills as he stops, breath shallowing, freezing. Just another part of gray trunk, moss dappled limb. Aside from the eyes, sharp as glass, cold as ice, merciless as the storm tossed sea. All the better to drown the fool within. "A bit of this and that" calls the woman, her tone meant to bounce out between her lips. Echoing eerily from no where and everywhere at once. A new plaything she had found, and the witch plays with it betwixt razor sharp claws. Sorry @Faust, Anna is not home. Only the Luideag remains.

image/code by saph

@Faust

His clingy shadow was getting worked up, spitting down nonsense at him with increasing fervor. Perhaps the rank miasma that hung over this place had addled what little brains she had left, leaving only a manic shell of what used to be a lioness.

Faust was no fool, it was obvious that this was the stranger's backyard. If he was being tailed then he didn't want to be caught with muck up to his ankles. This little dry hill would do well to let himself rest and gather his senses without risking a twisted wrist. Ah yes, wetlands really were the overflowing rectum of landscapes. Every time found himself slogging through one it only ever seemed to end in a mess.

"Well, if I'm an intruder then that's only because you left cracks in your defense." He spoke up to the trees and open air, letting his red sight slip over each branch and cluster of shadows. "There's something to add to your dossier, rra mhree husmiorr. Whether I am a guest or interloper ultimately doesn't matter, the way was open so I walked in."

No border, no claiming roars or signs of a homestead. He was simply an angel out on a walk.

@Luideag

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