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@joelle-stone @this-is-not-an-alien

Alright, let’s try this again

~*~

Ada Warin was beautiful in a wild, hunted way, almost as if she were a faerie fawn in the guise of a girl.  Her narrow face was sharp and fearful.  Trepidatious.  It was framed with waist-length knotted brown curls that tangled in the lightest breeze, and shaped by high angular cheekbones and a delicate little chin.  Her mouth was small and mute.  It was often pressed into an apprehensive, anxious line below wide, deerlike eyes.  Frightened eyes.  They had a look of wariness and suspicion about them, perhaps even terror.  They were wild eyes, hunted eyes.

Her faerie face was balanced on a long, thin neck.   That neck was perched between narrow shoulders on an equally narrow frame.  Her limbs were long and willowy, as were her hands and fingers.  The nails at their tips were naturally pointed and clawlike and added to the air of ferality about her.  Her feet were narrow, delicate, with high well-curved arches.  She tread lightly, with a nimble step and easy, skittish grace.

At the moment those wild, hunted eyes were focused intently on the girl before her as her slender fingers traced intricate swirling patterns on the stonework she sat upon.

Nadia Fabian was an Eya gypsy minstrel, and Ada’s constant companion.  She was confident and calm when Ada was frightful and shy and in appearance they were less alike than not.  Her skin was nut brown in color, marking her Kidarin, with long sinuous limbs.  Silky black waves fell to the middle of her back.  The long ebony tendrils were kept out of her face by a colorful card-woven ribbon tied at her nape.  Nadia’s face, much like others of her race, had a square jaw and broad forehead.  Her lips were full and often upturned at the corners in a small wily smile.  Finally her brows were arched loftily above narrow, half-lidded eyes at a catlike slant.  The irises were such a dark onyx they were almost blacker than her hair.

While Ada stared, Nadia sat relaxed on the low wall and sang of old legends in a voice like spiced honey.  Her eyes were lazily half-open and contented, almost sly.  The morning, though wintry, was bright and clear and where the girls rested on the old masonry was warmed by the sunlight.  Below them the Ironflow River gurgled merrily through the ravine on its journey down the mountainside.  It was a cheerful melody to accompany Nadia’s dulcet words.

Then a shout rang down the mountain.