Broken Antler Fen alghabat alsihria

if visits with pharaoh were at an end with his migration, then jawahir would seek new prey.

distraught as they were to give up such a fine man, that was the way of things. the jewel would savor the taste of him until someone better came along—and often, think back to their times together.

their time together was not forever ended—the invitation remained. thinking of this, an energy returned to their step. they worked quietly, with spritely steps, to pick their way across the fen.

amid the stagnant waterways, shifting with a haze of heat in every direction, jawahir thought they saw just what they desired: a wolf shape, some measure away.

taking to the cover of the trees next, where they could lurk and come to some decision: to call out to them in their sultry way, or wait and watch? better for now, they think, to linger in the shadows.

curiosity sinks its teeth into roswell and holds swift and steadfast as he makes his way through his home with the naívety that bespoke his youth; a crowned jewel that belonged to children, yet unburdened by the cruel aspects of the world — despite that roswell is no stranger to such things. not really. not with the death of his mother that had loomed like the inevitable sink of a ship in his mood.

through magic and divining from the stars — though his skill is easily fumbled and regulated to the vestiges of his broadening imagination — he has found his tether to ibis' spirit.

and thus, she is always with him or so he believes.

warm sunlight spills from the breaks in the emerald canopy that vines together overhead — looking titanous tall to him — and roswell, wrapped in his thoughts ignores the whispers of the trees and the unusual scent of the interloper that hides in the shadows; misinterpreting the instinctual prickle of unease that settles over him and bristles his guardhairs as being the fact that he's found a particular spot cloying and thick with 'magic'.

watching is always the better option for a coyote.
jawahir knows this, yet when a shape does appear, they find it hard to hold their tongue. the boy is young; he seems inquisitive, and is yet unguarded.

when he stops to listen to the grass dance beneath the touch of wind, jawahir smiles.
i am here, little hunter. there is no doubt in the interloper's mind now. the boy senses their presence, likely smelling them by now.
are you lost? croons the jewel; they do not have any use for children, but for now the boy can entertain them.