Bearclaw Valley and he sings to me real low

she did not share his bloodline; oddly, thorn felt relieved. he was a man through and through, for his immediate thought was not oh that's a shame but, oh, niice. despite his inward dialogue, the man's countenance remained unaffected. he nodded in stoic understanding, having little idea where or what lost creek hollow was.

it came as a surprise to the eyjolfur that he bore the scent of a wolf on his pelt that treason recognized; his gaze canted to her for reassurance, but he read plainly in her transparent expression that she was neither exaggerating, nor misleading him. "who? and what did he do?" he queried, feeling a stiffening sensation round his back -- if there was an enemy lurking in diaspora, thorn believed stigmata ought to know.