Jayley would park herself on the Deity Y'asmina's shrine to sit and wait, for in Jayley's mind her entire being is a gift.
The jungle breathed.
Large waxy leaves and sharpened palms swished and swayed with the pull of a breeze, the humidity ebbing and flowing between the vine-dressed trees. Every exhale, every surge of air back into the jungle carried the faintest taste of salt that stuck to the lips. The birds continued their continuous songs, backed by the more subtle hints of creatures creeping within the darkening shadows under the vast canopy.
Shadows grew longer, darker, their edges stretching like a viscous and inky flood along the forest floor. The ornate foliage turned a vibrant, concentrated verdant hue as blossoms unfurled to join the saturated smear of colors that seemed to leak into the vicinity of the small moss covered altar. Moisture filled the air to the point that dewdrops hung from tree bark and flower petals, a silent desperate warning of an approaching storm.
The chorus of the creatures grew soft but not silent as a different collection of sounds joined into their symphony. First came a soft and gentle clink like a wind chime made of sea glass, fangs and shells, the instrumental chatter echoing out with every sway of a pair of hips. A soft hum came from all directions within the wilds. The notes were strangely soothing, the highs and lows like a lazy lullaby that a mother might offer her child as they drifted off in her arms.
She appeared from behind a tree trunk as if she had been there the whole time, appearing when it suited her. The Jaguar moved with a smoothness, a confidence of being within the safest reaches of her domain. She approached her own altar, bearing only the paint, scars and the natural trinkets that were tied into the lengths of tousled umber that flowed from her crown. The Jaguar had expected a gift. She had sensed its arrival. But she had not expected the gift to be a Keeper, tainted with the scent of burnt leaf and blood.
“It has been quite a while since I have been offered a life,” her voice left her lips, reverberating from all reaches of the trees. Molten eyes inspected her offering with no small amount of intrigue, even as the Wild Witch crawled up on the stone to invade her offering’s breathing space. It was a stifling sensation, feeling the heat that poured off the Jaguar’s body and the intensity of swirling aether in her presence. The thunderous sounds of a heart, beating true and steady, almost drowned out the Witch’s words.
“If you survive me,” the Jaguar purred, even as the sound of thunder and the white noise of rain whispered from the canopy above, “the life you will lead in my wake will be a dream turned as real as our shared breath, Moon Beast.”
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If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?