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

relmyna watched cicero carefully for any sign that a god had spoken to him — instead, the man moved toward her across the snow and the evoker held in her throat a surprised sound. sheogorath ... cicero ... had never before touched her in such a way, and she found herself quaking beneath her ragged pale fur. but not with fear; the patchwork wolfess thrummed with the half-hazed memory of
relmyna pulled her mind away from the thought as soon as it had alighted there; cicero filled her senses, the scent of him, green-edged with the fragrance of his plants; snow; earth — she found herself leaning into his contact, turning her muzzle gently to preen the hairs accessible to her twisted lips. the stone was warm between her forepaws; relmyna felt its glow even as her eyes closed, her mind questing to etch this moment into the unwieldy halls of her memory.