There was no drip of water here, deep within the earth.

In another cave, in days gone by (or years?) there might have been the languid rush of freezing liquid winding through the stone. Now there was silence. She did not mind it. She hated it.

There was nothing that said anyone lived here; there were no markings on the wall, there were no fine carpets or candles, there was nothing here to remind her of a life that once was.

This, she found fitting, suitable, as the woman simply hunkered in the middle of it, listening. Listening to the ground beneath her feet, the whisper of far off trees the wind carried and the ?and the?

The drow?s head tilted at almond eyes flared open within the dark, red glowing. Through the paths of dark blue, black of cold she thought perhaps to find a figure of heat. Leaning forward from her crouch then to be upon all fours and slink forward, akin to snake or four limbed spider, the white of her braid woven about an arm to keep it silent.

Something on the wind, with little cat?s purr perhaps? Something on the wind that had the drow moving toward the opening of her cave, and it was not wholly the all that was felt on the surface.

Fur.

Fur and cat-pxss. What offensive odors that crept along a languid breeze from the opening of her once-sanctuary. No longer. I will have to find another one, xas. And ward it doubly, and triple if I must.

She grew tired then, for a heart-beat, of all the caves and sweet dark-touched places she has had to leave behind.

On all fours upon the cold stone which could have been called some sort of floor to animal or those not as high and mighty, the drow turned right inside. Choosing the stalagmite coated walls and beginning to climb upon them. Not grasping anything the human eye could see to stick to them however, because despite how far away from things she was, the drow could still sucker-fish fingertips to any surface and scuttle in hair raising dexterity toward her prey--vistor. Visitor.

She stopped near the lip of the cave itself, hanging there half-upside down in dead silence to observe, first.

One should always see if what was coming was worth killing and eating, or simply killing, or toyed with after all.

All around the mulberry bush, the drow killed the weasel...

She watched. She watched and she took small, but particular delight in watching the subtle expressions creeping on the female...female humanoids face below her. Even if it was but a split second, the taste of surprise and fear seemed sharp and clear to her. Or perhaps it was her imagination?

Mithril finally shifted, in the tense and release of her muscled arms holding onto the side of the cave, shimmering the metal woven into her hair wrapped about her arm. No need for stealth now, xas?

"Do you always walk into the mouths of dragons?" This whisper was akin to listening to hollowed out bones being played like flute. Rough. Ruined. It was not a sweet voice in the least; it bespoke of screaming until the vocal chords were damaged forever.

Did it bother the little white cloud in the rainstorm of dark below?

Her head tilted, unnatural and not human to the right then so that red eyes fading to golden to take in details infrared would never catch.

Almond eyes slashed exotically upward narrowed. Her head had straigthened slowly then, and the drow was crawling past her, a touch further toward the mouth of the cave.

"Nau. It never was." There were complexities that were no one's business. Certainly not this creatures.

She did not warn her of any traps or magical pit-falls which the drow may have woven into the cave itself. If the little female found herself bleeding her own guts into a pile of stone dust--certainly it would be a lesson remembered.

Turning then, so that she could back out of the cave and keep her eyes upon the white-female below.

She meant to leave her there. Unlike a human, Suliss'urn held no compulsion to stop and chit chat. Compare shoes, talk about hair styles and the direction of the wind.

Though she did not feel the need to kill this little ant that had crawled its way into her den.

At the moment.

This could change of course. Drow were well known for their patience, kindness, sweet talk and --oh. Right.

Metal glittered further as she continued toward the night and yawning open jaws of the cave.

To fall into step with Suliss at the moment, meant to crawl up the side of the cave.

The drow had not climbed down or left.

"Then you can take yourself, out."

What did she expect? The drow to suddenly flutter lash and smile sweetly? Ohhh. You were brought here! So that changes everything! Here! Let me put aside my entire collection of knives, poisons, history of hatred and violence, and welcome you with open arms. One lump of sugar in your tea or two?

The drow eyed her once more and dropped like spider-silk thrown to the ground, mulch scattering and leaves swiftly reeling from the female on all fours.

At the very least, it seemed she was indeed dressed. Leather vest and black woolen trouser. No shoes, no boots. And a wealth of silver scars, hair-raising, chunk-carved into skin.

"I will only give you one warning," suddenly, hissing serpentine as the females head extended from her neck and bobbed, side to side, side to side. Cobra-like dance to mesmerize pray.

"Run now. Run now, and I will not eat you."

Eyes were wide and golden, like wolves reflecting light when they bent their heads over deer carcass. Her nostrils flared, as if she took the very scent of the critter standing alone and at the mouth of her cave.

Was she serious? Would she dare?

As far as she was concerned, she saw a thing--something that had trespassed upon her territory.

There was little forgiveness in her for such actions.

Here, the drow moved toward the little female so fast as to be the blurring shadows, the tricks of light. Here, she crowded in on personal space for as long as the girl remained still.

For that second, the darkling's nose was almost brushing her cheek.

"I do naut care if you were brought by Mystra herself, guided on the backs of Elistraee and Helm. I do not care if the world cried out and told you that to save it, you must trickle-trail into the den of angry lions to find the answer.

"Say what you mean to say, and say it quick or begone out of my sight before I tear your mouth from your face and eat it." Teeth snap, snap, snapped at little white's cheek. Her breath was like the forge, hellfires and death.

She did not care for females. This was only furthering her opinion as the drow retracted her face from the cheek of the girl by retracting the slender neck. Recoiling back with confusion a moment to stare upon the child.

Several steps were taken, backwards, to simply stare blankly.

And then--oh, oh, on, and then...

The drow tipped her face upward to the sky, teeth bared. The bone-rattle of dry leaves across a corpse was a laugh. Her laugh. Cruel and jangled; Hhhhhhhhhaahhhhhuuuu-ha-haaaahhhhha!

A moment, a few moments more as the drow laughed at the child and the messenger.

"The dead do naut make wishes." All traces of laughter had seeped from her in moments. Deadly nothing.

"You may keep your mouth," then. Wide lips twisting as if tasting something rotten. "It seems you have naut grown into it yet."

And the drow was turning her back, the white braid pendulum swaying as she stalked to the lines of trees. Her Majesty considered this moment passed, the conversation done.

One moment she was there in skin-sin and blackened pain, the next there was nothing but the woods to weep their winter leaves and dead winds.