[center][h2][b]Ophelia[/b][/h2][/center]

Ophelia's reaction was not to be panicked like Farren's, but to be deeply curious. They had little cause to be afraid, really--yes, they could be murdered at a moment's notice with no recourse... but that wasn't permanent for them. She approached the situation with caution, but fear was only meant to keep her alive and alert during dangerous times. She was no longer at risk of dying, so danger's definition had expanded somewhat and in her mind this did not really count. The others, though... bereft of the silver sheen of moonlight, she knew that they could not ignore the imperative of their bodies. Excepting Gerlinde who, of course, was not tethered enough to reality to become untethered--it was a potent shield, so long as she remained mostly in the more benign realms of madness.

Ophelia curtseyed in respect up at the Crowmother, looking up at its form with rapt attention. She noticed well how Crowmother was not mostly avian as she'd suspected, but rather in the beginning stages of a transformation towards that state of being. She seemed beastly enough in form already to be outwardly called a beast, but was intelligent enough and capable of reason enough that Ophelia would not call her as such. Truthfully, she reminded Ophelia perhaps more of what she imagined a nascent Great One might look like--and indeed, she knew well that power abhors a vacuum. After the Blood Moon new forces would fill in those gaps, and the manifestation of that power was not something she thought had ever truly been studied--she would need to see more and learn more if she was to unlock its mysteries.

"My, you're really something... I feel empty-handed, to have not brought a suitable offering! Thank you for granting us passage, Crowmother. Is there something I might do to aid you in return?" Ophelia asked, looking up at the massive creature somewhat sheepishly. This whole experience brought back foggy memories of that narrow path in the woods, of the particular bends of crooked and gnarled trees that infused the shadows with strange life. Of a rich and succulent offering held heavy in her arms, proffered reverently... She was afraid, then, too... but not just afraid. It felt like a brush with the sublime; all brushes with the sublime required that one suddenly become aware of how incredibly small they are, and the fear and awe that go with it. If she'd not had that moment so long ago she would have had it now--and when she looked at Farren, that was exactly what she saw on his face. It was a good experience to have, when they faced the threats now arrayed against them--but Farren was a rigid fellow. She wasn't sure if he'd break before he'd bend, and she placed a hand on his shoulder to offer him some comfort and ground him.