Blackfeather Woods sins not tragedies

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gaze roved the trees, under the distinct impression that he was being watched. dead stare landed on the woman, Potema, the witch who's brood wandered the woods too, now. he did not offer a greeting of any sort, staring at her with an intensity that was masked by the vacant way his gaze seemed, clouded and without a spark of life. he was utterly still as he watched her, maw moving as she uttered some sort of chant, low and evading his hearing. 

he did not think much of the gods these ones followed. did not believe that Princes lived in Realms besides their own, did not think that their was anything but here. nothing after this life, that would simply end with an absence of anything. he was not phrased by whatever she might be chanting, be this woman or any of the lot who believed in the fancy tales they clung to with passion.