Blackfeather Woods i'm going on a dancehall tune

she dreamt of cicero.
relmyna had no fathoming within her that the melonii and herself had been destined for anything more than what they became. yet the ache for him had strengthened — not love, perhaps, but the recognition of the madman's features in her children. they belonged to blackfeather, to her — but to cicero also, and he would not see them grow.
grief roused the patchwork woman, but it was the swift movement of her daughter that brought relmyna fully to her senses. a confused blink; the stone. the rock of tongues. a brief logic attempted to pause the woman, but a sudden ire had kindled. above all things she cherished the little wolfesses, and yet the rock astara had carried away was relmyna's sole link to the world of speech lost to her.
with a growl that @Averna remain where she was, the thin-boned woman swept after the bobbing tail of her rogue, stride lengthening as she bore down.