Orna and Sekh, 1

Sekhmakh Neith: This one, she did not go home, not right away at the very least. This one, she moves out of the city, towards the Sunless Sea, and once past the gates of the city, she removed her shoes and stashed them into the bag, her hand coming up to the fairy, and settle it onto her shoulder with two hands. Gloves came off to reveal hands that were long, thick and black nails cut very short, filed down as they grew fast.

Sekhmakh Neith: Her feet, they were, in fact, cloven - ended with a sloped sort cresting of a heel, which shagged with a chocolate coat, much like an elk's, and her hooves were a soft coffee in color. She was a blend of creature and woman, with habits that suggested as much. They fey of her spirit was very strong indeed. Where she went was towards a hot spring that was tucked away in the lichen orchards.

Sekhmakh Neith: But she did it in more of a loping gallop, letting powerful hooves stamp against the earth of the cavern floor, rubbing at the dirt, as her tail whipped from side to side, as she tried to be somewhere other than here, and someone other than what she was in this city, at least, for a little while.

Orna Navrátil: Orna was slowed by the heavy chainmail, and she wasn't exactly the best at this either. "Please, Sekhmakh..." She offered with a soft word, looking at these legs with a mixture of wonder and dread at what they mean in that lopping gallop, falling terribly behind. "Wait! Please!" But it was worthless. She disappeared from Orna's sight, and left the woman heart-wrenched at the edge of the city, looking into those lichen orchards. Slowly, she began to follow the tracks as best she could, the slick lichen clinging in bits and pieces to her as she traversed, staining here and there and doing such a mess of the job her dear friend had to purify it, but she went seeking out nonetheless, the smell of a sulfurous volcanic spring not too far away...

Sekhmakh Neith: Not many things had hooves in the city, or this place, and she was able to follow those tracks easily enough, as they meandered in lop around the lichen. She was running, if for only reason was that out here, she could....

Orna Navrátil: Orna had followed to this point, at the spring, panting as she had dragged herself through. She had force marched before, but the desperate sprints she attempted did her no favors, as she leans against the stones, falling down on one new. "S... Sekhmakh?" She tries, looking up bleary eyed from under her habit, already feeling a slight sweat from the steam.

Sekhmakh Neith: She didn't think Orna would follow her in truth, because frankly, it was easy to lose one's way in these parts. She followed the scent of the steam, Sekhmakh, and it lead her to this place. By the time she found her, she was already nude, back turned as she brushed hoof into the water. Her legs started as just that soft fuss, but from the knee down, the hair thickened into more of a tauny coat of a deer. What she was should not be confused with a satyr, but often likely was. She was in all her dark beauty, a Faun, right down her back the patches of dark spots became white freckles, sleek fur. She turns as her name is called, just partially, to see Orna.

Sekhmakh Neith: "Dhis Vahn wonders, vhy did you come here?" she asks, her bright eyes narrowing a little bit. If it weren't for that tail, she could likely pass as some sort of Unseelie. "It is dark, for eyes of Aelborne."

Sekhmakh Neith: The fairy, quite docile when out of the city, as laid herself out on a toadstool, upside down and looking up at her feet, wiggling toes a little bit.

Orna Navrátil: The nun blinked through the steam, to regard this faun-like creature. So much had been made of how comely she was, by everyone they had met that night. Yet really it wasn't until all of the fey nature, with that influence of the arcanloth upon it, was revealed, did Orna really come to realize what a cruel twisted thing that must have been. The beauty of the fey, touched by a fiend, and driven in an accursed bloodline. It was hard for her to recognize necessarily comeliness, when instead she witnessed corruption. She lifted from that knee, drawing forward and keeping her head bowed. "Because I said I would see you home. Promises... Promises mean something, Sekhmakh." She didn't have to tell a feykin that. "You are kindred to me, so is it so strange that I care?" Even with the influence of fiends, her heart was mortal, it was a thinking, feeling creature, and deserving the fullness of her mercy, their shared spirits or not. She looked up with that beatific smile once more, her fingers pressing and fidgeting before her. She then blushed, and turned away, looking to the side. "Ah, this is... probably more proper."

Sekhmakh Neith: Now, Sekhmakh could argue all she wanted about drunk summoning, but this fairy was a good representation of the Faun, even if rather obnoxious. "Kindred, Kith. Dhis vahn?" She looks down at herself and then to Orna. She laughs, brows rising. "Dhis Vahn is but creature before you, abomination. Vhat does proper matter to vahn?" She was curious of it, as she sunk herself down into the bath. The fairy melts itself off the toadstool and tiptoes over to the edge of the water, hopping into the air to settle itself, cross-legged, upon the woman's head. Comely down here, disgusting, wretched filth to the Vale, to the Feywild, to anywhere else but the Hells and Demonpits, and Drow.

Sekhmakh Neith: "She's right. Promises are Promises." She didn't think someone would honor that, even an Aelfborn, especially down here. The fairy kisses her forehead, little fingers smoothing over brows. She looks up at it, the smallest of smiles, as she lets her back sink down, past the scars, up to her shoulders. She sighs softly, smoke curling from her nose as her eyes close. Fingers reach to gently pet the fluff of red that was known as hair of the fairy.

Orna Navrátil: "No, not kith." She says with a soft smile. "Kindred. Of a soul, not a people. I know your blood is not my blood, but that does not mean we do not have a heart." She was not looking directly, still fidgeting with her bandaged and nicked fingers. That word though... Abomination. Aelfborne are not really considered so terrible as that, but they live in a very liminal state where both their societies resent them. They are almost always bastard children, and soon become orphaned by the lifetime of one of their parents, and often looked at with such intense sorrow or regret by the other. She sighs, and softly draws her sword, trying to not make too much a sound as she places it in the ground before her, facing down and sinking, as she kneels before it, her hands on her lap. As if she is making to pray. She will be here in vigil, until she is needed otherwise, though she considers... "There must not be much music down here to remind you of home. Should I play for you?"

Sekhmakh Neith: "Dhis vahn plays music of home." She retorts, her back turned, as she pointed to the instruments - a panpipe, a hurdy-gurdy, a handpan. But the fairy only sighs, and quickly chomps right down on her dark eyebrow. ~Sylvan~ "Ooooch! You wicked little thing, why are you hurting me so?" The fairy hangs from her eyebrow, which causes to the Dark-Faun to plunge down into the water. Wet wings, the fairy lets go and flails right there in the water. "HeeeeelP! Heleeeeelp!" But the woman reemerges and scoops the fairy up, tossing it from the water, where it bounces and rolls rather comically over the dirty ground. It coughs and gags. "But she's right! She's right Sekhmakh! You don't have to be so mean! There's nothing wrong with you! I still think you're pretty. Even if you've got a little bit of naughty in 'ya..." Sekh rolls her eyes, looking at them as she leans against the stone. Her face looks away, in all her fey pride as Infernal mischief drips away in the hot water. "Vhat instrument do you play, Aelfborne?" Kindred, was a hard name for her to use. She didn't seem them equal, she saw herself as lesser.

Orna Navrátil: All the same, being called aelfborne... Hurt. She drew down her hood against her head, as if hiding from her heritage. She had giggled, been pleased by this little scene between this pixie and Sekhmakh. Her lips pursed though and she shifted, sitting back on her seat and pulling her knees to her. She hadn't bathed in some time. She rarely took off this armor, leaving it to become in some disrepair, but... "An ocarina, my kindred. My father taught me to play, a very long time ago. You are of course a bard, and I couldn't possibly compare," looking over her shoulder, not with any envy, but a joyous smile. "I'd love to hear you play, or even sing."

Sekhmakh Neith: She shifted a little. An ocarina. "Dhis vahn has not heard such sweet sound in, long time," she admits, trying the words of the fairy to heart. "If you play, Dhis Vahn... She maybe sing, yah?" she was trying to be casual about it, but her nature didn't quite allot her the ability to be acting with an apathetic air. Aelborne, she saw that it hurt. But to her, that was something better than the abomination she was.

Orna Navrátil: That was the thing about hurt. It was all about context. Real empathy came not from comparison, but by recognizing instead the part of the heart where all things become equal, in its joy, sorrow, fear and wrath. Orna bit her lip, but drew back her habit over her face and made to find a seat on a nearby rock, unslinging the pagoda wood instrument so intricately carved. "What kind of song would you like to hear?" She asks, not shy to look at Sekhmakh. It was not really the nudity that was ever an issue. No, it was the overlay of her visage of one thing that Orna, unkindly she knew, felt the urge to despise, with something that she had known so intimately in the Vale of the eastern hills. And that, was actually worse. To be reminded of what she would never know again. So, by opening her beating heart to this kindred, she might grasp a hold of that blade, bleeding as she may become, and try and show that she is still Good inside. "Most of them seem so sad now that it is so far way, even the happy ones," she admitted.

Sekhmakh Neith: "Is sad, But dhis vahn, she understands her place in this world. Where she belongs." She keeps her face from her, but watches from the corner of her eye. "Somesing you like, noh?" she asks her to play a song that she likes, that seems important to her. The fairy is trying to dry her wings, but keeps carefully away from Orna, after being banished like she was, one couldn't really expect less. They knew little of each other, that Sekhmakh didn't quite understand the meaning behind the phrase she used, if it was to mock or relate. Skeptical of this pale one before, she remains in the water. And really, the Nude, the Infernal bloodline that ran thick in her, could almost be overlooked. And yet, not by someone who knew the Vale so intimately as Orna. No, it was hard to look past what she was, and into the heart and soul of the woman before her.

Orna Navrátil: But Orna would try. She was not perfectly Good, but she always tried. Just as she bore Myrdril in his casual cruelties, for the possibility that he might have a spark, that his heart may beat for a moment. And in some ways, it did. But not in others. She looks to the fairy as it dries her wings, almost sadly in what she had done, but she understood. The words against the faithless were painful to speak, much less hear, so she closed her eyes, and raised the ocarina to her mouth. She played a song, a sweet song that was indeed her favorite, one she played for someone beloved to her not so long ago, about a lost soul at the edge of a river in the eastern hills, praying to be like a bird and fly. She did not sing it, this time, as she had last time, letting it only be the melody. She was not sure if the Dunnish folk song would be so known to Sekhmakh, but she went into it... As did her magic, unbidden. Calling the natural world to her, as gloworms on their wings began to fall from the sky, blinking lights like snow down upon them.

Sekhmakh Neith: She did not know the song of the Dunnish, but she did listen. The fairy drew closer, lilting to the song, she couldn't help herself. She looked up at the sky as she listened to the song... Sekhmakh too, like all the other creatures, did draw herself close, her hands falling from the rock wall, as she slowly meandered closer towards this Aelfborne and that gift she had...

Sekhmakh Neith: And the two of them, that shared the same heart and soul, moved inward, both with a graceful lilt that came naturally to their kind. Sekhmakh, her eyes slightly narrowed in their heaviness, not realizing that was drawing her in, but the fairy soon tiptoed and spun, until she was upon the knee of Orna.

Orna Navrátil: Orna glanced up only once as Sekhmakh approached her, but it was the fairy spinning on her knee that let her smile into the song. Her eyes glimmer with joy at such a thing earned, and she does not squander it, going into a keening sound for just a moment that goes a bit deeper. Not just the glowworms now, but spiders, little black things carried by webs through the air, lit by the soft blue light of the lichen, the green of the glow worms, landing and beginning to spin webs on the ground in soft patterns that catch the steam of the baths like morning dew. The song was one of spring, not winter, yet instead of thawing the hearts around them, it seemed to encase them in an ice of sorrow. Orna's music was something so very different than what a bard might bring. It was truly something that was drawn from something ancient, but it was still a twenty year old girl playing that wooden instrument, occasionally fumbling a note with her less than dextrous fingers, frustration playing upon her brow but then a smile when she channeled that divinity through her.

Orna Navrátil: This was the work of no star goddess. This was the work of the ancients, through Orna, but she brought to it the nobility and holiness of Suilan as well.

Sekhmakh Neith: Her body drew up from the water with a smooth roll of hands upon rock, and the knees against the side. Sleep, wet legs curled inward towards tauny doe's thighs, and hooves scraped rock. One one hand over the other, she leaned inward upon them, to tuck her chin upon her speckled shoulder. In soft droplets did the water cling over her coat. But the song, and its power to the spirits of all around, was certainly undeniable, even as the fairy waltzed upon the knee of Orna with a beaming smile, wings atwitter.

Sekhmakh Neith: The damnation of her father's blood, it seemed to be the only thing that made this near-sylvan creature less-than-Fey.

Orna Navrátil: Orna's face bloomed with a rose tint. She kept her attention on this waltz of the fairy, rather than the infernal touched feykin that kept that position not far from her. It was not unlike how she had felt looking at the face of that Lady of the Starless Sky, so perfectly attuned to the part of her that was sworn to Lady Suilan... This was something a bit darker. So perfectly sylvan, like a creature of the fey woods she remembered as a teenage girl, dancing with the fairies and exploring their world. Beautiful, and often mad. That fiendish heritage, all the same, however, gave this seductive edge, that reminded her all too much of her own sin. And her song faltered some at the end, just a hesitation, before she ended it with one final overtone note, breathlessly letting the ocarina fall and keeping her head down, though without the habit to hide her face, there was little to hide it behind, with so little hair that she had.

Sekhmakh Neith: Sekhmakh shirked upwards at the end of the song, blinking softly. But so innocently, the fairy only giggled, reaching down to pat the knee of Orna. "That was so pretty," it said, still beaming, Sekhmakh though was trying to figure out in some ways, what it was that had just happened to her. Embarrassed with herself, she quickly rises from being so close with a swish of that tail, she turns and clops back some, to fidget with a frond of lichen.

Sekhmakh Neith: Because in the end, Orna's blush, her faltering, it reminded Sekhmakh of what she was.

Orna Navrátil: Orna beamed back at the fairy, speaking back in Sylvan with a bright smile that lit her still blushing face. "Me? You're the one with such precious little wings, Quippet." Remembering the name, and leaning in, setting the ocarina down at her side and marveling at the little creature, and lightly, she reached with one of her fingers, to reach out and touch, however the fairy responded, but her attention was drawn away, her smile fading slightly as Sekhmakh fidgets, and she becomes chastened. It was true, after all. That was indeed why. "... I'm sorry." The glowworms have settled their show, the spiders beginning to crawl into the darkness. "It isn't... you." It was, and it wasn't.

Sekhmakh Neith: The fairy leaned and lightly kissed the finger. It, however, only spoke Common. And maybe that was when Orna understood. It was a familiar, and a mistake as much as its mistress was. "Well hello little finger, aren't you so pretty, yes you are..." It rubs its nose against the tip, and then leaned in for a little kiss, giggling as it decided to hug first with its arms, and then its legs, around her finger, upside down on it. Sekhmakh looked over her shoulder at Orna and then back, she shrugged. "Same look, same look dhat all give dhis vahn. Same look, same worry. Dhis vahn, she tells you, not interested in fucking pretty Aelfborne of Vale. If that not hel you feel better, maybe you go home, leave dhis vahn alone, noh?" No malice, only... disappointment, truthfully.

Sekhmakh Neith: "Muah... muah! ....muah!" yes, yes, the fairy kissed her finger, holding on so joyously, so innocently, so sweetly.

Sekhmakh Neith: Which she may understand better, the banishment, it was a display. It ran back into the bag because ultimately, it didn't want to cause trouble for Sekhmakh but needed a good reason, other than the words of her mistress.

Orna Navrátil: Just as she finished that last word, noh? Came another one. "No." Orna drew her arms around Sekhmakh from behind, her head turned and leaned against the nape of her neck, both reaching up to hold each shoulder. She had to remove that fairy which she had done by placing her finger to her lips to shush her for a moment and then set her on the shoulder, whispering in Common to promise another song if she's really good, but that might not have helped if Sekhmakh hadn't been talking at the time such that she may not have heard it, though Orna is hardly much of a sneak. "I don't want to just go. I'm not worried about that... It's... Not like that." Trying to smile as she let go, and stepped back. "There is a reason I cannot go back to the veil, Sekhmakh. And every day, I am reminded of the justice of that... Of how weak my mortal heart is."

Sekhmakh Neith: She smelled of flowers, fresh herbs, and dusty old books, which could be comforting if not layered with the scent of brimstone of her breath. Arms wrapped around her damp and nude form, she pauses in her walking away, which was what she had been about to do, to look back at Orna with a furrow of brows. Sekh does what she naturally would. She offers kindness - genuine, but the blood of her heritage made it seem awkward and pointed. Her hand came up and gently at her shoulder and patted, as she twisted a little, if only to remove the head against her neck and damp hair. "Ah... Dhere, dhere, Kindred Aelfborne. Vhy you leave Surface dhen? Vale, it is soft place. Gentle place. Kind place. Not here. Ah, bad ting, happen to you, noh? Bad tings, happen to all here, Dhis Vahn sees and hears, with more dhen just too-big ears, yah?" She was trying to be comforting, and in the truth of it, she was somewhat good at it, her hand gentle, if but a touch awkward with the contact that she generally avoided.

Sekhmakh Neith: The fairy nestles onto Orna's shoulder, and quite politely respects this moment, hands holding heels, as she's crosslegged.

Orna Navrátil: "No, you don't," she says, though with a kind smile. "Bad things didn't happen to me... It was me. I was the bad thing that happened." Releasing from the embrace there, the pat did come off as less than comforting, though she didn't hate it. And besides, the feeling of chainmail against one's body was hardly that comforting, and Orna needed a bath besides by the smell of it. When exactly did she remove that armor? The awkwardness leads Orna to look to her companion on the shoulder. "Well, I did promise you. Something a little more lively...?" Looking up to a smile to Sekhmakh, before she moved to collect her instrument.

Sekhmakh Neith: She tilts her head a little, eyes narrowing some, but not with Malice. "Wait-wait-wait.... Ah, dhis vahn, not mean to offend. Even if you did somesing, it still happened to you. It is still part of you, it still brings pain. Dhere in dhose eyes, it is dhere, dhat pain. Somesing happened -to you- even if you did do thing. It vhas not intention."

Sekhmakh Neith: She sniffed her and frowned a little, wincing. "Ah, I help you vith smell. And dirt." She offers out her hand.

Sekhmakh Neith: The fairy though is clapping her hands, giggling at the prospect of another song.

Orna Navrátil: She did turn back to look at Sekhmakh for a few moments, listening to those words with a small smile, though it faded by the end of it, and then she turned beet red and looked quite a bit at the ground at that wince. "Oh... I'm sorry..." Her fingers fidgeting with each other, and then looking back up to her. "You didn't offend me. It's just that what I did was not something that can be forgiven, Sekhmakh. It's not something that deserves your sympathy." Her voice was quiet, all a hush now, staring that hand. "I know you were being kind, thank you." Those last two words allowing her to smile, with a sigh, breaking away one hand to take hers. "Quippet is going to be so disappointed she has to wait."

Sekhmakh Neith: "Ahhhh it maybe somesing to do vith vow? You are very young to be nun." She was carefully with her touching, not wanting to give anyone a wrong impression, which was hard - often, she came across as either seductive or cruel. She hugs her arms behind her, hoof grinding into the dusty ground, her ear twitching. She sighs and clops forward, her hand gently settling on shoulder, the other in hers, trying to draw her inward, to hug her, much like a mother. "Sh-sh. Dhis? Dhis maybe not okay, yah? But someday, it maybe more... Ah, accepted." Nudity did not offend her, like it would many. She was, afterall, with all intent, raised by a Feykin. Her skin though, is warm, damp from the water, but felt like velvet with the fine fuzz that covered her upper torso, apart where smooth scars riddled her skin from discipline.

Sekhmakh Neith: "Quippet, be fine. She can vait for song. Dhis, dhis is more important."

Orna Navrátil: "I, ah, had sworn different vows then..." Her voice so quiet as she is held to that warm, damp body, the velvet that she can barely feel through her armor, but the hands that rest on each shoulder can, and she takes comfort in it. She has danced naked in the moonlight before herself, and knows the fey so keenly, she has lived that life. It is not that which has driven her so mad, so beet red. It's that Sekhmakh is kindred. If she was just a woman, or a man, or a child, that she didn't know, that's one thing. It's that she feels a kindship, and she's so afraid of letting it... become something else. "... It usually takes a few minutes." It wasn't clear what she meant at first, but she meant her armor. It was layered, with leather padding and layers of mail. It was heavy armor, not meant to be lived in as she did, but had, in this dangerous place. She looks up at Sekhmakh's face, the habit drawn back, almost confused at something. "You don't have to help me. I'm really sorry I... I don't often have the chance." She was basically homeless after all, but Sekhmakh didn't know that.

Sekhmakh Neith: "I sing you song dhis time, maybe Quippet shut up, yah? And vee make you clean and smell not so much like Human village vithout Plumming. Vee take off dhis armor. Vee stay out here tonight or somesing, listen to pretty songs, we go back tomorrow. I tell masters, bah, noh, zey vill not miss me." She dismisses it, this wasn't so much a question. Right now, Sekh saw a young girl that needed someone to care for her. "Here, vee clean you like dhis." She leans and kisses her forehead, chastely, as she hugs her. The dampness of her velvet skin, the grime that covers Orna, just slinks down to the ground in a completely unceremonious manner, as her fingers draw along the armor, taking it off nimbly enough, she was, after all, a slave. "I vhant to help you. Dhis vahn, she do vhat she must, because she can."

Sekhmakh Neith: And Orna's skin, feels warm, like she's just taking a nice, long, hot bath. It was magic, only hinted by soft whispers - spirits both infernal and sylvan - and that sound wrapped around them, like an unfelt breeze, before it disappeared.

Sekhmakh Neith: Lilacs, the scent stung at her nose, sweet Lavender, crisp rosemary and peppery thyme, clung to Orna's skin like an oil would if she had been submerged in water.

Orna Navrátil: Orna felt the sting of that first comment, even if she knew it was just the way she was being treated, but the kiss at her forehead causes her to become a little indignant, for once in her life. "I'm not a child!" She complains, almost like one, but the magic that cleanses down against her, causes her eyes to widen slightly, that magic, coming about... And she hears that other undertone, the one that is not Sylvan, as the raiment is removed. Underneath the chainmail is the rest of her nun's outfit. The tunic of amethyst serge fabric pinned up at the front, with a woolen belt and underskirts, a white coif as well and black crape. There is a frown on her face, but she doesn't so anything, these scents and sensations all at once. "This is... so much..." Reaching up, finding Sekhmakh's hand a bit and stopping before she steps away too much, looking at her chain on the ground. "I am... vowed to remain humble, Sekhmakh. This kindness is..." She's crying. She doesn't know where all this kindness is coming from, and it's joyful, but overwhelming, to be simply wiped away like that, to be so embraced. She cannot find the strength to complain, but a part of her has so long been the one smiling and keeping her back strong for others, that she cannot bear it to be done for her in turn, and she collapses in part against the other woman's neck, buried in the velvet for a moment. "Why, Sekhmakh?"

Sekhmakh Neith: She smiles at her, that sweetness. No, Orna wasn't a child, but sometimes, even the strongest of young women needed a mother, and even the strangest of women needed a time to be one. She's careful with the armor as she lowers it to the ground, but she doesn't stop, she dresses her down, kneeling to unlace the boots. "Zoh, be humble." She shrugs, she wasn't going to stop, not until Orna was in something she could actually sleep in. Deep inside, past the smarm and blend of unholy beautiful of her abomination, she was, at the very center, born with the heart of a mother. No, she did it too quickly to accept an argument and perhaps that was cruel, but her hands, her touch, her smile, it was nothing, nothing but kind, support, maternal. She looks up at her, those bright eyes narrowed with thought, but the smirk not so much a smirk, so much as it was a knowing look. "Because, everyvone in dhis place, needs a modher Zohmetimes. Because kind people are very few. Zohmtimes, vhat ve need is not vhat ve deserve, and zohmtimes vhat ve want is not vhat ve need. Yah?"

Sekhmakh Neith: "Your lips, zay dhey do not vant... but your heart? Your soul? Saying vhat ve want does not change its need. You need dhis."

Sekhmakh Neith: "And Dhis vahn, she can give it to you. And so she does." She shrugs, it was just that simple.


Orna Navrátil: Orna had a mother. She remembered that woman, a wild woman of the woods, who tied bird feathers to her hair, who warded off evil eyes and taught Orna the old stories, how to weave which was a sacred art to the people, to creature the knotwork and designs that were the Dunnish hallmark. She was never a particularly kind woman, she remembered, always a bit aloof, always treating Orna as if she knew that one day the father would come to take her away. Maybe she did know... Sekhmakh reminded her in some ways with her own aloofness, her forceful demeanor and eccentricity all the same of that woman, she could not deny. But it was such a strange thing to admit, wasn't it? If Sekhmakh continued to undress her, under the tunic was nothing but a shift, laced up over where her breasts were bound tightly, and she could see the flesh of her collarbone with a ragged scar itself. There would be more stories like her face's all about her body... And yes, the sign of the lash on the nape of her neck, stretching up, this one fresher rather than deep grooves collected over years. Orna stood there, feeling more naked than she ever felt in her life, even though her modesty was completely intact, clutching at her waist and leaning over slightly in that embrace. She hadn't said anything this entire time, when Sekhmakh had said what she said. She was just thinking, or perhaps not even that. She brushed a forelock from her closely shorn hair from her face, blinking with doe-like eyes and looking to this faun, this doting figure.

Orna Navrátil: "Please treat me well." That was all she asked, in this vulnerability. She allowed herself to be taken along this way, until the very end. She may not have had to say it, but she did, looking with those wide, deep deep eyes. She could not bear to have it betrayed. She could not survive it.

Orna Navrátil: She was shorn of more than the armor. The vows, the degrees of separation, all seemed very distant, as did the light of her goddess, in the dark embrace of this faun, that so embodied the wild, moonlit realm she was raised in.