Stone Circle A game of ego

Her breath puffed like a ghost in the sharp and chilly air. The night embraced her, and she slipped through Easthollow like a shadow herself. Since Desna had told her of Steph's near death, the Apaata's eyes rarely lifted heavenward, even in the night. She trusted the stars still lived somewhere behind the cover of cloud, but even if their eyes were watching unveiled, she found her affections increasingly drawn toward things more precious than they. Fuzzy little squirmy things she didn't think would rub her like they did - but they did.

There was nothing odd about tonight, and like most of the nights before, the world fell quiet and at peace. A soft rustle through the grass marked the movement of a rodent or bird, the wind rippled through the leaves. The soft gurgle of the stream lapped many strides behind her, and the scent of Easthollow sprung more clear as she neared the edge of their home.

She approached to mark - and she stopped, legs stiff. Jaws parted. Breath puffed with a catch of fog. No - and she swung herself around, back over the flats with a swift and sudden lurch. The scent trail, fresh, and headed toward their heart. She didn't give thought to what she was doing, and pursued on legs as fit for the night as the stars.