Desreal: fenrisulfr; "fear state"

Don't disturb the beast;
first the tempermental goat,
the snail while he's feeding on the rose.

She smiles, unadulterated and weird; she smiles—absurdly the hag has become slightly attracted to the filly before (in a sense of a platonic nature) as she feels a familiar madness rising from within the earth beneath her. The shard in her hip screams and burns, it’s metallic serpent voice plays at the depths of her failing sanity; ‘take the child, do it…’ it cries and whines. It pushes her and tries to control, but alas; the earth-hag is an unmovable presence. Even as the strange child touches her, she only turns her head, pressing her nose against the girl’s shoulder and base of her neck. Her mismatches eyes narrow, the falling scent of Andarin dances on the girls flesh; and strangely she just knows. “Fenrisulfr,” she speaks, “I presume.” She has a lenient sort of voice, lazy and unhindered by things like laughing statistically or crying mismanagedly. However, beyond the sloth nature of her voice, she allows her element to react and play at the biting chill of the wind. Within her small area a strange flower blossoms from the ground, pale yellow with a vibrant splash of red in the center; it smells sweet and strongly; but even the hag is disinterred in her work.

She chuckles at the girl, “I have heard from the earth,” she pauses and mildly considering the idea of now being that psychotic aunt who talks to tomato’s in order to make them grow (the idea is put to rest though rather easily). “That you were rather bold.” Her words are slightly broken up, but even then the lackadaisical nature of her posture reflects in her voice. She likes her, obvious by the way she combats the stone, internally trying to drown the voice of the thing within her hip. She lips at the wolf-girl’s mane, placing and moving her hair about in simple manner. She doesn’t know how or why, but as the girl stands with her elements winding about in such a manner; Elemmírë can see something; something most strange—“What brings you here tonight, niece?” she tests it, the idea of the word, and acknowledges that for once it is right. She is curious, but justly so; and even then, she likes her.

PRIMORDIUM
earthquake; mother nature; mortalis; mimicry