Larksong Grotto il taillait la pierre, fils d'ouvrier

it was!
the god;
coming again. lestan could see her form just beyond his reach, wavering between doe and wolf, between demon and fae-creature.
his breath was a ragged bark by now but he drew it enough to grin, to grind the bone between his ground and his paw until the bruising told him nothing of where he ended and it began.
and the fever scorched his very breath.
"i am going back to her," he said with cracked lips in words that had no sound.
"and you will come with me."
a thin, weak laughter issuing from the grotto now as lestan curled the bone close and pulled it beneath his winnowed chest.