Eris is by Savannah!
Discordia watched the woman inspecting the little plants with bright chartreuse eyes, though Eris held her tongue and prevented the shade from speaking encouragement. The sharper and more perceptive of the pair saw the doubt written across the ghost-pale woman's face, and she did not wish to cause her any anger or further suspicion with pleadings. In the end, though, she tossed them back, and Discordia's smile brightened and gave a little shimmy of -- joy? pleasure? delight?
It would seem she ought to have spent some time on explaining the effects, however ill-understood they were by Discordia -- Eris knew them well, after all. It takes time, the old woman said, holding her ground but unable to hold herself from flinching. Do you know many flowers that open petals before your eyes? There are some, I think, but not many, the muddied hybrid said, pointing at the earth and indicating the dried-bare ground. When spring comes, even the flowers must take long hours to greet the sun.
Sometimes, I do not know they are taking effect until I'm already all the way there, the muddied hybrid said. Discordia wanted to reach out and grasp the woman's shoulder, reassure her somehow, but Eris did not think this was a good idea, and held the urge. A more wolifsh instinct might do, however. Sing with me? When we close our mouths, you will start to see, the coyote offered. Her own joy made her want to howl it to the whole world.
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