Bearclaw Valley a dream

backdated to the 23rd

snug within the confines of a cave warmed still more by her fever, Avicus sleeps.

and she dreams. vivid, horrible things. every so often, though, something touching. the feeling of springing after prey, of stripping hot flesh from bone. a full belly; a quick-beating heart.

she dreams of the man's throat between her jaws, of squeezing, squeezing. the others are helping, too; together they surround him, and they are pulling him down.

her breath is fading and her pulse weakens. just like before, she fades;

but notes, before darkness, the torrent of his lifeblood, washing over her tongue, dribbling down her chest.

Avicus awakes, in a flower-carpeted meadow, rust-scent all around.

before her lies Astara, throat torn asunder, indigo eyes staring wide and blank and fixed on her daughter's face:

you killed me.

"Indra."

snug within the confines of a cave warmed still more by her fever, Avicus awakes, her wailing ragged through a throat hoarse with disuse, 

brought into life from the horrors of a dream.