Ravensblood Forest To court death itself

She had not slept, because when she slept, she heard the screams. When dreaming she was afforded a view she did not naturally have - memorizing what she'd come to know as the cats face, vicious and brutal as it tore down the one she loved. 

Was it loved, still, after death parted them? Was loved appropriate in the past tense, or did it transcend the boundaries that were natural? Isley did not know. Her movements became irrational, hackles raised and. Body continually in the fight or flight of adrenaline. She charged the borders, considered taking flight, but could not bare to leave Palisander in his grave. 

She'd dreamt of puppies with orange eyes, red fluffed scruffs and a keen wit, she'd dreamed of singers and dreamers and the weavers of worlds - and now.... Now the dreams ended. She was too young to know her first heat, had not consummated the marriage she never expected, but was not too young to know the slow burning ache if being a widow. 

She did not stop her vengeful plotting, she'd take the lifeforce of the cougar herself. Tiny, but fierce, and vengeful.