Blackfeather Woods It was real and I repent

From here her fear was tangible and sweet; he breathed close and her withers rose from both the man's proximity and her own terror.  Her eyes lay upon the acid bite of his gaze for a beat before they flickered to the floor.  She can imagine she looks like a damsel, and her jaw sets, cheeks burning.  She hates it.

I don't know, she offers, They were Blackfeather once, too.  Not anymore.  Perhaps that is why her voice is gone.  The wounds she'd sustained from Siarut's sister had been deep.  Anything is a better explanation than being haunted by the girl she'd killed — the image of the maggots and the moonlight forces itself to the forefront of her mind, and her body shivers once.

They live over the mountain now.  Everything Siarut had worked for would be undone in this moment if she could manage it.  Maybe it was for hurting her, but maybe it was for being able to move on.