Blackfoot Forest Poisonous blood runs in my veins

the man and his manic words began to grate on mona; his size bespoke wariness, but his language was that of a madman. and yet she was viscerally unafraid, only unsettled: he was in a tree and she firmly on the earth. and so the girl inched backward, and said nothing, until she felt confident enough to turn and dash for the safety of the shadows, and the glint of open land beyond the forest and its dark denzien. if he followed, mona was unsure of what it might come to, but for now, the mayfair fled.