Gyrfalcon's Keep the twisted nails of faith

a dark expression flew across her narrow countenance as the memory of kevlyn besieged her - she turned to lasher, her expression raw with vehemence. kevyln's ghost was not his to dredge - for a moment a snarl threatened to break the tranquility between them, yet it was quickly suppressed by some small remaining shred of rationality. she looked then at the dark-furred man, his russet coat coruscating brilliantly in the sunbeam's radiance. how then could she strike him? even the sun favored his stillness.

she was surprised that lasher had met the bird, but then again, not so surprised -- given bartok had a penchant for harassing those within caiaphas' proximity perhaps it was not surprising after all. "no." she uttered forlornly, accepting the tenderness of his advance.