Blackfeather Woods i am—yet what I am none cares or knows;

it was in these moments, relmyna knew she would give most anything to speak again. she had been practicing what sounds she had discovered in the recesses of her throat, but any word was garbled without the use of her tongue. she sighed, watching him smile briefly, and through some weakness in herself, sought to lean against cicero for a heartbeat, if allowed. the days had been endless, melting into one another; the evoker had realized in this moment that she had been without company or touch for some length of time.
using the toes of one paw, relmyna moved the rock of tongues closer to cicero for his inspection. through it the gods of blackfeather spoke; through it, perhaps she would find her own voice. scry; that was the word.