Blackfeather Woods The demons of our past lives

it was relmyna who answered, stalking from behind the darkened copse of nearby trees with pastiche hackles trembling like pallid blades along her shoulders. too soon it had been since the redhawk wolves had come down upon them; it was an event from which relmyna nor blackfeather had ever quite recovered.
it was with a silent awe and horror that she beheld the pale eyes, the tall strength, the nightblue sheen of the man's coat. some voice deep within the woman intuited blackfeather was not merely a joining place for the man. nevertheless, the delta hardened herself, revealing the moonglow of her pelt and the stare of turquoise to the night creature and waiting for his address.