Sun Mote Copse Keep Moving Forward

in the days that followed the ritual, eshamun had kept to herself -- silent, grieving, but awash in the light of molech. she knew her sacrifice had pleased the eight-armed one -- the res drunak had done well her task -- and thus would the malkaria be blessed. but eshamun knew too she must let out the tears and the pain, rid herself of it lest it consume her with bitterness, and so she spent a great part of her day at the shrine, whispering o'ertop the graves where the little ones had been buried. their spirits did not hear her, she knew, consumed in the holy fire of molech's breath, but she spoke to the deaf ghosts all the same. there was a certain comfort in it, she found. 

the ekar-aji had discovered enough strength within her to perform a patrol 'round the golden edges of the copse, and did so with a slow, easy trot, lowering her muzzle from time to time to scent for tracks. the air was becoming cooler, though the weather was still shot through with silvery summer heat, but soon the winter would be upon them. it was not something of which eshamun knew; she, her sister, and khalba had come from the hotlands.

but no matter; here was a wolf upon her borders. eshamun approached with a lightness she did not feel in her heart, only physically, now that the weight of her gravidity had passed. viridian eyes settled gently on the stranger, who appeared malnourished and, save for a pair of shrewd eyes, rather older than the ekar-aji suspected she was. "welcome to the malkaria," the canaanite murmured softly. the scent of rot and death hung in an invisible cloud around the stranger, and she was wary.