Sheepeater Cliff wendigo

the striking green that at times lit lasher's face now surged to the forefront of his gaze, and though his heart was buoyant, a sudden weakness gripped him and he sank to his ragged haunches in the trail before the boy. ní raibh a fhios agam labhair tú mianach, he breathed, dark ears folding back against his skull. it had been long years — too many for his count — since he had last heard the word of his secret heart spoken, and though unbidden, but perhaps expected, the swampwater eyes brimmed with tears that trekked slowly down his cheeks.

briste mo chroí, ach a aimsiú mé go bhfuil sé deisithe i do láthair, taltos breathed softly, though dread thrummed along his spine at the very thought that the red-hued boy was of donnelaith, as he was.

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