Blackfeather Woods the story of a ship

The older brute acquiesced to the other’s sudden, sweeping introduction and moved to the side — but not out of view. Somehow, though Kitsch had only known the greying male for mere moments prior, he already felt familiar and the sight of him, interestingly enough, mitigated the fear Bane so easily instilled in her featherlight bones. It was silly knowing the reality of the situation, but Kitsch was a girl known to latch upon the nearest soul and draw any sort of comfort that she could from them — even if it meant conjuring the emotion with nothing more than her imagination and using it to steel herself against further hurts. 

The shadowed man took a several elephantine steps towards her and quite abruptly the entire zeitgeist of the meeting shifted; where [she believed] there was a small sense of amusement now housed enmity. Her tongue sat useless in her mouth as he spoke of the things that did not disturb her; his commanding force now rendered her aphonic. When a sturdy paw was place upon the skullbones of the carrion and easily snapped the bones, a deep shudder wracked her body and Kitsch tore her watchet gaze away from the man and his victim to stare at the ground at her ashen toes. She, very suddenly, felt as if she were a mouse, staring up at the visage of a monolithic housecat, placed precariously between the rodent and its nesting hole — ultimate salvation just out of reach. safety. normalcy. It was all right there, but somehow life required her to deal with psychopaths to get to it.

“oh…” she gasped softly. The breathless word could, at this point, be her tagline. Oh…

Were these dark woods her ultimate salvation? It was unlikely, she knew, but the immovable fact remained: if she remained alone, she would perish. Then the princess of Saoi Baile would be no better than the corpse at her ashen feet — albeit, she would have died for nothing while they had died for something. What a big something that must had been!

Kitsch still was at a loss for words to address the reigning male’s piercing inquiries, so she remained silent for several drawing seconds. The pearl was generally naive in the way of social cues, but his sarcasm was not lost upon her. Oh, but he didn’t know that she had stared the devil in the face and lived to speak the tale — and, yes, it disturbed her — but she couldn’t tell them that. Couldn’t tell anyone.

Time to change the subject.

“I, uh—” the girl stammered softly, pedaling her front paws against the ground in sudden nervousness. Her ears splayed back, pressing hotly against her skull and the nape of her neck. A blush crept to her cheeks. She could not fuck this up through her typical defiance — having choices was no longer her lot in life. To avoid further maddening the new king and to avoid his biting, sardonic inquiries, she got to the point. “I can’t go back.” she admitted demurely, meeting Damien’s gaze and holding it for just a moment before letting it flit to . It was true, she couldn’t go back. After all, what did she have to go back to? “I—I… I’m not a fighter, though.” Kitsch said this as though it were not obvious from her slight frame and small stature… but then she folded, admitting to the two men things that were not as obvious. “I’m not anything.” Kitsch looked back up to Bane, beseechingly.

“But I can learn… your ways”