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It was fortuitous that Doom had brought them so many skulls and bones. He wagered the sheer magnitude of scale was to deflect how and why she was in possession of so many. And what a clean break from spine the all had, too. Dark knowledge lurked in her firey but twinkling eyes. She was an all too discomforting pixie or harbinger of bad things, but a valued customer. And so great was their last exchange that Glossbones and his sister, River-Swollen, had enough to keep them busy for winter. Which brought him out scouring the barren fields for seasonal accoutrements. Seasonal because the land was dead and they were at its creative mercy. Armed with some fallen rock icicles, known as stalactites by the fancy kin, he went about looing for some dried out branches to tie them into a bundle when he saw mistletoes growing in an empty but charming little cove. It was frostkissed from all the moisture, too. What an odd place for it.

When he chanced upon the doe, it made him uncomfortable how vulnerable she was. Belly up, on her back, and strikingly bright, she made for an easy target. He was grateful his sister, River-Swollen, was not there for she would have eyed the doe's tail plumes with fervent glee and with her mercantile eyes, deem them worthy for their skulls. He was often embarrassed by her bluntness but she had gall, something he could not let take precedence over etiquette and professionalism. Their business could not, would not grow with shady dealings such as outright theft or mugging.

Glossbones saw her pawing at the intriguing plant and stepped into her line of sight. He knew the tradition he was talking about but the blood was pumping too quickly to his cheeks that he didn't want to say. Too intimate, and he was built for pragmatism and skull collecting as his dyed and painted tail showcased. But still, when there's a query there's an answer:

"That's a mistletoe. If you happen beneath it, two kin, you .. er, um" he could feel his scales falling off of him in mortification. "You have really nice pelt color and feathers" he blurted out instead.

Grateful for the change of discussion he beamed at the mentioning of his tail. "Brood Mother Snailshell has the tail, the horns and scales to match. She's got a fierce pink mane, too." He could go on and on about the wonders of his family. His clutchmates and him numbered 7 and they each had their own little areas of dominion over the swamp.

"Mugwort hangs out with Sorrel and run their little garden and herb place but I have a neat art shop with River-Swollen. As for the other three, who knows. Though Wallow has been extremely prolific. If you see any kin with mutton chops, it's him." He's not sure why he's divulging information. Probably because he was still in awe of HER tail and colors. They were a more muted bunch, his clutchmates.

And then the stuttering and heart hammering started again. "The Mistletoe... they.. lips to lips" were all he could eek out. He was so not eloquence. Mustering up courage and clearing his throat, he overcorrects on his bashfulness by standing tall, forward and aggressive. In an almost too loud tone he states, "Tradition states that should two kin meet under a mistletoe they should kiss."

There he said it. He inwardly deflated.

And just like that the blood rushed to the surface in fervent anticipation. Yes, this is embarrassment and admiration all mixed up in one. He almost envied the fleeting birds. Quick with her quips, she was a firey one as her pelt suggested. To calm his fastbeating heart he answered her inquiries. Just to buy time. Time time time and the slowing of his heart and to get his feelings under control. His ribs heaved with pressure.

"Snailshell has been off with broodfather, Vetiver. They're a merry gang with all their pets. So I suppose it was no surprise when our clutch was so great. They gained the favor of a Mare or Stag or two I'm sure." He was rambling now. This was soo not his element. The wintery cold air blew fiercely, keeping his rosy cheeks permanently affixed to his face. He twitched his tail nervously. Onto the next question.

And then a miraculous thing happened. He remembered his encounter with Doom. And best yet, he had survived their multiple encounters. Even Lull managed to not bloody him. He could tell this doe stories of this. To impress her. Instantly he straightened and smiled tentatively.

"I'm Glossbones by the way. What is your name? But yes, you are correct. We do stand underneath the mistletoe." His tail waved quietly to and fro. And then moves to stand closer to Rebirth and right underneath the mistletoe. Waiting for what, he did not want to admit.

With her graceful bow, he knew he was a goner. Reasoning was swept away as his emotions came barreling forward. Emotions, hormones, fantasy, it didn't matter naught. Rebirth now held his unequivocal focus. And with that furtive flickering of her tail? Done, and done.

The distance between them dwindling, he forced his body to breath. And when their faces sought purchase, he pretty much knew what he needed to know. Rebirth was a gorgeous lady kimeti and he was confident he had things, traits and parts of him he could offer. And that whoever created the silly mistletoe tradition was an absolute genius.

The kiss having calmed him and restored his confidence in spades, he stood firmer in resolve and turned on the charm. Separating a little, his tail playfully slinked around her foreleg, a promising linger, an invitation. It was an effortless display of a smile on his part. She brought him joy, and he wanted to return the favor. Beckoning his head like so, he hoped to impress her.

"I know this wonderful cave nearby that will shield us from the elements. I also have some pelts if you're warm." Sometimes it paid to be a collector of animal parts.