wolves in our own skin, we're savages; cam/any.

[Dá]

wolves in our own skin, we're savages.

She follows the will of the trees far, far away from her grassy meadowland. The ground underfoot changes from loamy dirt to compacted, dry and pebbly. She wonders how any life at all would be able to survive if it continues to change. The trees say onward however and she follows, dutifully. It is not her place to question; only to do, or do not. Her knowledge is so tiny compared to the vastness of the universe and nature; she is its humble servant, a mere apothecary to the great Goddess.

The heat rises, and the plants she is familiar with changes, too. Now they are spiky, narrow-leaved, closed away from the heat and sun. She has no name for these. The trees voices begin to fade away too, into this veritable wasteland of a place. The voices she can hear are not the same, either, they speak in a strange exotic language that Dá finds she understands perfectly. It seems they do not care for the politeness and mystery of the Meadow trees; instead being rather short and to the point. Different, but Dá has no preference for either over the other.

She stops, unaware of how far she has actually trekked. There are no voices now, it is blessedly quiet (although lonely). She could be in the center of the kingdom, for all she knows. She knows little, but she is thirsty. Always thirsty for more. Her parchment-yellow eyes gaze across the eternal dunes, an unusual pinky hue, although the witch wouldn't know that. She has never seen a desert before. The wildfire girl burns steadily; neutrally. She is at peace, but she is open - open to be read, interpreted, discovered. Not out of politeness, the wild girl has no concept of such thing, but out of curiosity.

Come, o great desert creatures, come and meet the sun.

DÁ

[Camrynn]

so you wanna play with magic?

There is absolutely nothing that Camrynn likes better than meeting others who have gifts.

Well, technically that's not true. She really enjoys Eight's company, and that's not strictly speaking meeting anyone other than him. But he has gifts (oh, doesn't he have gifts), and isn't theirs the dance of magic on magic, of white wings and black bodies, of diamonds and lace and impossible pied-a-terres carved deep into the heart of the mountains of the meadow?

That is her place, true enough, but the Deserts is too. It is her home, and haven't she and Pevensie made it ever more so? It's changed since they took the throne, and not just because the sands have become pink. They've added Gumby, they've promoted, they've started to turn a kingdom in slumber into a beating heart once more.

And as Camrynn has changed the kingdom, so the kingdom has changed for her. It meshes perfectly with her magic, becoming her domain. And so she knows the instant the witch-girl steps over the borders. She needs no trees or plants to whisper to her; the entire world whispers to this mare. The depths of her knowledge, her experience, the truth of everything she is is etched into her black body, so ancient and yet so unspoiled.

She watches the girl from afar, as is her habit with most visitors. She is miles even from there Da crosses the border, so far that Da might never even sense her presence, and yet she follows the girl's every move. A thought, and the magician can hear the whispering of the plants too, and perhaps even the way the girl notes a difference between the Deserts and the Meadow trees.

She notes with interest how the girl presses on, moving beyond where the trees and the plants can whisper to her, moving out past the safety of the things she knows. It is then that Da stops, and it is then that Camrynn decides to approach.

Well, perhaps approach is the wrong word, because Camrynn simply appears. She shimmers out of the air and it's quite suddenly as though she's been there the entire time,

She is beautiful, lithe and shapely, her coat a rich, deep black free from markings or scars. She is a blank canvas, allowing her to draw herself however she might wish. Across her chest a bold crook-and-flail is etched in living gold, glowing brightly under the heat of the Deserts sun. Across her cheek a trail of diamonds and gemstones traces a graceful arc, for all the world like a necklace. Only her eyes betray anything particularly unusual. Today they are a bright spring green, like grass in a forest glade - in honor of the woods witch, of course.

"Da." her voice is like liquid velvet, soft and warm all at the same time. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Camrynn." a small smile plays on her lips as she speaks and fades as she begins to talk again. "You must be thirsty after your trip." as she speaks, the sand a few feet in front of them seems to bubble away, melting into a tiny pool of incredibly clear, cold water. "It won't taste like sand, I promise." The smile is back, if only for a moment.

"Now, what brings you to the Deserts?"

She knows (of course she knows) about the trees and the flowers and the way the girl has nature in her soul. She knows why the trees chose to whisper about the Deserts, and why the girl felt the need to heed them right know. Camrynn knows so much – but there is always more to learn.

CAMRYNN

co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery