NIAMBH
Like one length of kelp in an ever moving ocean, she hovers in their midst; a dragonfly lost amid elephants. The stew of breathing bodies, hot, brimming with emotion, smell even worse than it looks from her angle, stress, excitement, uncleanliness. In truth, she can barely see one-quarter of those present, but upon the faces of those visible, there seems to be building anticipation. And then- That voice…
Niambhe has heard it before. Her thoughts return briefly to the sign so well guarded and she smiles slyly in the shadows.
The Queen of the barrier-folk talks on tp those gathered, her subjects, and the Fae longs to see the woman’s face also, to know what she looks like. She imagines a tall, slender woman, dusky-toned and dressed well; there is the handle of a bone teacup, nestled between similar, taloned fingertips and a conniving grin carved into the mouth upon which the vessel rests.
While their focus is turned to the front, Niambh finds better viewing from the stiff lip beneath a window pane.
The woman whose voice fills the space above their heads, airing the logic behind the meeting aloud, met a good many of the winged woman’s expectations. She was as lovely as presumed, young (no less than the fresh faces of the Greatwood’s inhabitants), and tall, considering. Guards loom around her, just like they had by the sign and cunning eyes place others too around the room; their attention directed towards the crowd, instead of the speaker.
The Queen invites the majority to air their thoughts.
Nestling herself down against the cool, dusty old brick, the Fae folds her arms across bent up knees to listen.
And learn.
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