Lilé smiled at the sidhe’s words, watching the way they were so gentle with the babe within her womb. The scent of crushed sloe was a joy; an added delight to the tenderness of it all.

“What was he like, in the early days?” she asked, feeling the little one shift from insistent kicks to lazy, contented rolls. “Have you been with him since his birth?”

The question was met with a tilted head, the closest to an expression of consideration they could offer. It was a novel experience, to converse with someone that was not of them, and not Thorn.

'This one has been with him always.' Testing their connection further, the sidhe passed a small memory along to illustrate their words; the naked form of Blackthorn, soil encrusting his fingers, his hair, stood panting in the center of his Grove.

"There you are pup. I was beginning to worry you'd miss the fun."

There was a distinct lack of concern in Thorn's tone, but it seemed unlikely to make much of a difference to the mortal under him. Now that his pet had swum to the surface again, Thorn slowed his pace but kept the depth, intent on Sleipnir feeling every inch buried in him.

Appearance & Dress:

As mentioned previously, they lack mouths, leaving the space under their nose smooth. Aside from entirely black eyes, their facial features are otherwise human. Skin colour, which is likewise indistinguishable from human flesh, falls in the range of colours of blackthorn bark, but also the blue-black of the sloe.

Variance in height and build is present, as is the physical age they chose to present. Slightly longer limbs and fingers than a human are a universal feature.

Clothe themselves in the material of their trees and little else. Use everything from bark, leaves, fallen branches, thorns etc. Some keep their coverings rough in craftsmanship, while others have learned methods of transforming the raw material. Regardless, they create only out of what has come off the tree naturally, not harvesting directly. Various piercings with the trees thorns are a common adornment. Many sharpen and blacken their nails

The eldest, the original 7, are distinguished by full-face masks of blackthorn wood, carved to resemble a greenman. Each is unique, with varying degrees of intricacy and expression.

His host certainly had no qualms with doing so, and why should Blackthorn have all the fun?

Though there might have been something eerie to just how quiet it was in the main hall as they entered, truth be told Mal was relieved not to see more of Blackthorn’s sidhe lingering in their master’s wake, still vaguely unnerved by their presence despite his best efforts to ignore them. He’d long passed the point of feeling unnerved by Blackthorn himself — though he doubted his innate caution would fully fade any time soon, oddly enough he’d simply become something of a nuisance in his mind rather than a figure he feared. Slightly more unnerving were the tapestries that the florist’s eyes irresistibly flitted to, terrifyingly beautiful in their realism, so stunningly crafted that he swore he could smell the fresh-turned earth beneath thundering hooves and the green of the forest. Even woven from thread the depiction of the Wild Hunt was enough to coax forth a shiver of foreboding, and as he tore his gaze away Mal realised he hadn’t been listening to a word that Blackthorn had said.

"Do you like it?" Thorn moved around Mal to touch the tapestry, a subtle reassurance that it was in fact merely art, for all its ability to charm. "It takes a lot for me to miss a Hunt, when its called. Have you attended?"

It seemed unlikely, but not impossible, that the pretty mortal had been shown their darker entertainments. Indeed, even that brief flicker of discomfort had been enough to convince Thorn he'd make beautiful prey. Letting himself linger on that line of thought was dangerous, and recognizing it, he stepped away from the wall hanging and gestured for Mal to follow him once more.

"I have an idea, although I worry its a tad bit on the nose." He led them deeper into his home, bypassing the ornate doorway of a library, scores of guestrooms, and what in passing looked like a lounge. "At the end of the day, this is a vanity project really, and I like to see the things I have made. So, the entrance to my wing of rooms-"

Thorn stopped at the beginning of another hallway, this one wider and taller than the entrance hall, despite being used only for his private quarters. Unlike everywhere they had been so far, the floor had given way to bare, packed earth. The scent of dirt mingled with that of crushed leaves, and a faint sweetness that the keen nose would recognize as ripe sloe.

"I would argue your roots led me exactly where they wished," Lilé countered, turning to face him with a sly smile. Gods, he was beautiful. Ancient in his splendour. Her shadows wove around him for a second in greeting, before gambolling away to curl with the roots of the room.

Closing the gap between them, she pressed a kiss to Thorn's chest, acutely aware of the way he always towered over her. Tongue flicked the soft olive skin for the briefest of moments, a further tribute. All she wore was one of those light, silken slips he loved to see her in.

"This is where you indulge," she said, a simple statement.

"The blood... it sings in this room. It tells stories." The unspoken question hung in the air between them, laced with curiosity.

Thorn cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks, all of it a contrast to the room around them. His love for her was insatiable, time having done nothing to diminish the flame.

"I like to linger over some of my games, its practical to have a space where mess isn't an issue." Thorn had no interest in discouraging her request, or double checking that she was sure- if Lilé wanted, he gave, it was as simple as that.

"I hope your schedule is clear. Its very easy to lose track of time, down here." His roots shifted in the walls around them, but the integrity of the room remained intact, built with his reactions in mind. More curled out from Thorn's feet, some as thin as string, others the thickness of rope, and wound their way up her bare legs and higher.