Blackfeather Woods step away from the window

He knew the Web as thoroughly as the adults, now, perhaps even better was his knowledge. In the Web did he tread now, the only sound beside steady footfalls and the lightness of his breath, that of his own thoughts. He knew of the woman that had been taken in penance for the trespassers' idiocy, the dark woman with the tufted ears and with the distinct scent of brine. 

The stone above him sloped, narrowed until he manoeuvred with the stone walls brushing his sides and his head dipped low. From the vantage of absolute darkness, the dimness of the cave was barely visible, the entrance to the tunnel he now used hidden amongst the darkness that seeped down the rear of Wolfskull. The boy slipped silently from the cave, footfalls careful now, whispers of sound. He moves forward, weaving with practised ease between the fangs that pierce the chilled stone below and above him. 

When his gaze falls upon the dark woman does he pause, rear sinking as he settles upon his haunches, her breath and his now the only sound. He does not seek to rouse her, merely does he sit and watch with the dead gaze of a corpse. He is utterly still, waiting, watching, the woman curled on the stone.