Blackfeather Woods dream of a street

@Zafina

things in the forest had changed since astara’s communion with her blood-relatives. she was fiercer than ever in her measures to protect averna, and at night dreamed of cicero and his teeth, improbable as they clamped around the pale alabaster of averna’s throat. 

astara had always thought the forest different — and now she understood why. it was haunted by the spirits that had left it in life — their abominable existences tethered to its blackened heart. and she too, was born of this horrific clade — and now she walked alongside the spirits, instead of simply by them. 

cicero’s shade had disappeared when her mother’s mutterings had ceased that day on the bone dias, but astara still felt his presence rippling in space and time alongside them. the girl understood that something had been lost the day she offered her own blood to the void — and now, the void lived inside of her.

---

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

---

Zafina had been drawn here for a reason. Something quite familiar called her here, perhaps some strange form of a past life she once shared, or even the Ancients themselves dragging the witch's mind to this forsaken land...but there was much here that she felt needed to be tapped upon. It was a land that was wounded, scalded by memories and happenings, ruined by tresspass of vehement vile doings. And everything in her loved it. 

Crossing over the eclipse of overhanging limbs of snow ladden treetops, she had stopped just short of a border, one which was buldged and strangely perplexing to the Goddess. Taking an ebony and dark cherry brown stained paw, she swiped the cleft of the snowcap away from the end of over-walked border, and with the spraw of frosty white, an orb of tarnished eggshell rolled heavily downwards. 
A skull, a wolf's skull to be much more accurate.

A smile bled across those inky lips, albaster fangs gleaming in the blind of winter's results.
This place would do quite nicely.

---

But every sky will build my throne.

---

there was a rustle and a clatter that broke astara from her wandering, drawing her attention to the fringes of the forest. there, a slim wolf stood, an exposed skull skulking besides her. astara noted the upturned snow around them — no doubt the black-clad sheba had plucked the bones from their snow-rooted cover.

astara examined the specter at the borders, noting the cold river of russet that seemed to bleed cleanly into black along the she-wolf’s pelt. it reminded the nightcub of the bleeding willows deep within blackfeather’s hearth, which bore weeping stains of mahogany across their blackened boughs. 

the girl stalked forwards, tail held straight behind her and her hackles fanning along her spine. her posture said plainly her place here, and if allowed, she would inspect the thin woman with her rifling snout in the traditional greeting of her species.

---

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

---

She could nearly feel the lumination of wickedness here, the awful excretion of platered souls trapped here. The breeze that blew through was no bare winter breath...something living rode it. And just as Zafina suspected it to be the Celestials speaking in their muted place, the Goddess saw another body ahead of her. This one, much like the prior wolfess she had crossed, was a void of all. But unlike the rude woman who gave no care to who Zafina was in the slightest, this nearing femme said nothing, held confidence, and this caught the Divine's eye. Speaking of which, against the despicable garnets she held as her gazers, this approaching svelte frame was the holder of indigo irises, a cross between amethysts and sapphires twinkling their unknown majesty in those swallowing sockets. 
Could this be...

"Mora?" Expressive crimsons traced over the silent body with inquisitiveness. The Goddess of Silence, and the Divine of Judgement. The question asked was a waste of air. Mora spoke nothing, only judged. But out of complete awe, Zafina extended herself a bit so that she might give a grace of a touch to scant across Mora's own nares."Kam buti tu'iea soru'ija? Kuris arbitras tave arbitras ir xauti ji yda?"

---

But every sky will build my throne.

---

the feral child kept her posture wary as she was approached by the red-smoke wych; there was an aura to her that appeared dangerous to astara, or at the very least, spoke of some violent potential harbored behind the sheba's glinting garnet stare. astara froze as their muzzles brushed, and she inhaled deep. a map of scents unfolded for her then, sharing where zafina had tread, and what wolves she had come across.

the girl stepped back, pleased with their greeting. her posture smoothly adjusted from defensive to a little less on guard, though her fur prickled as the woman spoke -- all of her words unintelligible to the little savage.

with her inspection of zafina over, the nightcub turned -- the arc of her thin tail suggesting zafina follow her.

---

 

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

---

It seemed she had passed the judgement once again of the dark wraith. Courtesy swept over the eclipse fae, and Zafina knew simply speaking to Mora would do justice to neither of them. But without immediate ruin, the Goddess had been invited into the dark domain of these wild and omenous woods, and Zafina was grateful the Celestial had given her a pass. Mora had been one of her closest confidants in the Above. She had always told her the truth of things, but it seemed she was now cursed to say nothing to the punished girl. That was fine; they'd be reunited in their original forms, one day.

As for now, she followed wordlessly, matching the night girl's silence for silence.

---

 

But every sky will build my throne.

---

the wolf followed the girl, a wildling leading a savage priestess deep into the woods. astara did not falter as she picked her path, confidently forging ahead without never once glancing back to the dark wych.

once they were close to the pack's rendezvous, astara halted and turned -- the wolf was still silent behind her. she apprised the woman with a cold glance, and then lead her to the cache -- food, her posture seemed to say.

astara did not linger much long after -- once she saw zafina was acclimated with the pack's rendezvous, she turned and made for relmyna, knowing her pale dam would wish to see their newest soul.