Wild Berry Meadow follow you down

and buffalo watched.

when byll rose and walked off, as if in a trance, he followed. it had always been thus, and would be again. from his perch upon a small rise he watched as his sister, eyes glazed as she listened to inner whisperings only she could hear, began her work upon the hapless foxes. he did not move to aid her -- in these times, byll was as a berskerer of northern lore, her delicate, mad-doll body transformed into some vengeful and demonic tool of the blackness, and none could stand before her.

when she had finished, delicately biting into a berry, covered in vulpine blood, buffalo stole down upon her and rubbed the length of his larger body against her smaller one, smearing crimson against his own pelt before whirling to nip her throat. "now, now!" he demanded, wanting to feel the thrum of the gods within her body, and there was but one way to do so.