she could spit in the eyes of fools; any

[Lavendel]

The woman knows the hopelessness of being directionless. Her own way point ripped from her by the spit covered jowls that was Sylva. She feels for the child she watches, the little thing roaming through the field crowded by lusting men. She knew that feeling too. The feeling of being wanted, the feeling beauty brought upon one.  

Sapphire gaze travels with the girl until she comes to a stop and then milky limbs are pulling Lamb from the forest and into the bright sun that paints the field with an amber hue. 

The painted youngling comes to rest beneath a dog wood, and Lamb too finds solace in its shade. She remembers coming to this place long ago with her own mother, the feeling of joy surges. 

"Hello, I am Lavendel of Ischia."
It was strange not being the heart of Sylva, even after all this time. It was strange even to not belong to Hyaline, not matter how often she returned to the mountain kingdom. 

"You are?"
She hopes the girl is friendly, Lamb always one to try and make friends. Especially of those who she saw herself in. 

The sun lilts across the sky and leaves leaf shaped patterns across the buckskin of her coat. Her painted face cracks a smile and she is truly beautiful then, warm honey and milk.