She had tasted life. How strange a thing! She had much of the world she had yet to experience and yet, she had tasted what it meant to create life. The Omen, the Stranger himself, had met her at the Grotto; they existed in the strange in-between world, shimmering shapes against the stone and shadows of the earth's maw. Yet Beltane craved death too, to experience both sides while her blood ran hot and fast. It'd never be enough to just taste one, after all, and surely any wolf could attest to the insatiable hunger that ruled their lives. Hunger for knowledge, power, mystery, intrigue, flesh, whatever their hunger, every wolf was ruled by it. Balance, Beltane thought. It was not right to just bask in life. The wind agreed, whispered yes in the voice of so many. She could feel Thoth in her veins.

The days prior, she had lived among the shadows of the earth's maw but now she crawled up and out into the sky's maw; she felt the moon on her back, a cool light welcoming her as she rose atop the stones of the crags. She stretched her legs, her back, peeled herself away from the magic of the world below and into the magic of the world above. For a moment it felt as if she had moved through a veil, out of the shimmering in-between and into the crisp, hard here and now. It made her yawn, the tension in her muscles departing with her breath. Instinct drove her forward, as if her nose followed a web that lead her upward and onward. Prey tell, she wondered, what spider lay in the middle - or was she the spider, lead to her fly?

When she saw him, she stopped. They shared elevation but he lay by the edge of the stones; she saw him from behind at first, a pale whisper of a wolf sprawled beneath the stars. Iromar spoke, a woman's voice, a voice that shared Beltane's intrigue. She had seen him once before in Iromar, a plaything for the Darkbringer, one of the few that had brought about...jealousy? Beltane could never quite name the feeling. But she knew him, part of him, and now she could see a shadow lingering over him, tall and dark but always so gentle. She could smell time around him. Slow, drawn out, as if resisting its end. And so she moved towards him, ignorant of all etiquette, laid beside him, a mirror of he as the lights above dashed onward. "Are you tempted to join them in their dance?" Her voice was like the wind, still and quiet, like steam as it curled out and into him.