[indent]A place of the old, weak and dying Forever calling out those who are crying[/indent] [i]In the roots of Isildier’s oldest trees they would surrender the bones of the dead and dying, for in the time that you choose to pass, your body will wilt and in turn become the grass. The trees bloom on the graves of her kin, bidden by the vestiges of time that too curse the forest in ever changing rot. Today she wills her soul to quiet and her face to still, stoic and reserved, a deadly flower in the unwillingness of her bloom. The trees are quiet, no rustle or rattle of skeletal twigs, the silence is deafening - it crushes her whims. It’s the only day she doesn’t smile or speak and there she perches on the edges of a grave: no epitaph or marker, no flowers she brings for there aren’t any to illustrate the loss. Her fingers close around a stone and with the surge of pain of a thorn bedecked wrist, she carves a well known prose into the bark, it bleeds and so does she - evergreen.[/i] [indent]And I, because of my momentous wrong now grieve, mourn and fast.[/indent] [i]Kylmi didn’t eat for days.[/i] ---- 　　[i]You do me great honour. . .[/i] 　　 The Nymph released a silent gasp, arms momentarily locked and withholding her frame before his voice drew her eyes down. Meeting them within silence, he spoke her name and bid her thanks, an honour he said and the novelty of the term settled across her shoulders in a fine weight she could not discern. The quietness lasted for merely a second but it was enough, and she too willed her stare else where. 　　 He spoke of her will and with a heavy emphasis that she did not miss, Kylmi laughed to herself in a fine tune, a chortle that sounded deep and soft in the cadence. Her will was never her own, but the depth and emotions of her heart often influenced by the life around her instead; ever changing, evolving and conforming by feral instinct. It was common of her birth, her kin, her desires of survival and splendor, and should this be any other Lord bidding for her assistance, she would have denied him and took from him selfishly. But as it were, she had to think of more than her own self and that was a custom she had never practiced. "[b]Oh yes, my[/b] [i]friend[/i]." She murmurs. 　　 Her eyes lifted from her musings and met the topaz gleam of Aevah, her thanks and gratitude shown within the beryl depths and Kylmi smiled at her; a wide simper that peeled back over her felidae teeth. 　　 “[b]I know my brothers and sisters are difficult by their borne souls, but it as the nature and Cerv Albi wished and willed us to be.[/b]” With those words said, she had tipped her antlered crown to her, bidding her luck by silent graces. She continues to smile, taking and absorbing these small comforts as everyone begins to settle within their willingness to help, offering each of their prowess and abilities to their sudden Prince; they too wish to see the world he has painted for them to see. Kylmi though can’t help but recall that 9 is not among them and it bothers her to think he’s somewhere, fixated to another cage. They had been the ones trapped and chained the longest, it’s a cruel fate to be the unknown. 　　 She knows that the aforementioned cry was his, a mental assault in his loneliness, she covers her brow for a moment, it reminded her of her own tortures. In surprise though she lifts her head and finds that 9 is now among them, as if summoned by her thought, lost to her own reflections she didn’t notice him coming in and only then did she see the commotion he caused. That, she wasn’t appalled by and she smiled graciously at his evolved state of appearing new and forged of strong sinew and chitin. But she too, like the others, had been assuaged with memories and it has unnerved them. 　　 Kylmi though can’t forget that without him, she would have died in the depths of that dungeon and witnessing the Prince rise up, stumble and accuse her savior in his own ill-fitting rage, she seethes. Thorns bristle across her arms, risen by aggravation and she moves herself away from his flank, willing to approach the arthropod just as Aevah had, which momentarily took her off guard by the bi-blooded elf’s boldness to stand before him despite the amount of soldiers beginning to take place. The Nymph raises her hands in a placating gesture, a ruse to summon a wreath of vines across shattered tiles and walls and in the place of lilies with their spices, poisonous flowers begin their bloom. She takes defense affront him like he once did to her. The Nymph listens to Aevah’s plight and once more bows antler and tine to her graciousness and heart, she’s a kind soul and like she, knows the misfortunes of life. Being a constant victim of countless persecutions, Kylmi knew the situation at hand far too well and also grew aware of her volatile plants snaking and nearly hissing with her rapidly descending aforementioned kindness and will. She returns Aevah’s nod and watches her depart before relinquishing her hands and dropping them to her sides, and with it, comes the receding of vines and thorns that had threatened to festoon the dilapidated war room in violent wake. 　　 “[b]She is right, though perhaps compounded by it, but he did save us and if not for him I surely would have perished. As a being indebted to him, I beseech you turn your weapons and inquires from him, he-[/b]” 　　 Kylmi suddenly flinched, a great tremor coiled down her spine from the harsh and thick waves of pure agony and terror that 9 permeated the air with. What flowers and vines remained around her in constant fixation suddenly grew lax, appearing cumbersome when her eyes rounded and the insectoid’s voice broke across her mind in accusation and hopeless baritone. Her heart fractures, bled with him, and Kylmi completely turned her back to the room and faced him completely. She did not know his kind or their habits and she had been alone before in the dark of her torturers, but her family was within Uchfos, she would see them again and yet he would not. Again, she was blessed with small fortunes and at his keen of true despair, the Nymph began to hum. 　　 They were small vibrations from her throat, gradually ascending in pitch as she gently, carefully, placed her clawed fingers on one his arms, the one that the half-breed had patted before. There is no indicated wording to this melody she proffered him, just intricate notes and hums that spill from her throat and fur cloaked breast. 　　 “[b]I never got the chance to thank you for protecting me, for saving me in the dungeon. I was surely meant to die down there and you saw me from that. I’m indebted to you, for that. In my home, we have a name for those we deem as saviors: Frelseren. And I bequeath that to you.[/b]” 　　 In this moment, Kylmi wished for nothing more than to return home to the family she still had. She removed her hand from him and cast her eyes over her leafed shoulder at the Prince, she stares, for a long moment she holds his gaze; there is no repulsion or fear, just a silent, boring focus, before bowing her head and holding out her hand when a magpie twitters and flies to her gesture. Perching carefully within her palm, she breaks her eyes from Mundhir and quietly whispers to the bird, willing it to follow the bi-blooded child and with her directions given, the bird parts its ebonette beak and beneath its tongue where the rumoured drop of the Dark One’s blood lays, is the answered letter to her earlier missive. 　　 “[b]Thank you my friend, I hope your wife fares well.[/b]” The black and wide bird twitters once again before flying after the pale one. Kylmi’s vines snake up and across her figure once again, an endless movement as she watches the bird go and clenches the small roll of parchment in her fingers that is folded numerous times and sealed with a sprig of mint. 　　 “[b]I’ll go to the Southern ruins,[/b]” she says tiredly and tips antlers to the remaining council before departing from the war room, plants following her and leaving the room to the cold stone of its masonry, with only the slight perfume of the lilies former spice. ---- [hider=&] * Kylmi is bothered by a particular memory * The Prince brings her from her stupor and she teases him with his own wording * She bids respect to Aevah but is troubled * She takes stand with her to defend 9, slightly angered by everyone's responses to him * Sensing his sorrow she hums to him, trying to comfort him and thanks him for saving her * She stares down Mundhir before a magpie flies to her and she receives a letter and tells it to follow Aevah * Kylmi states she'll go the ruins with everyone and leaves the War room, feeling exhausted[/hider]