Blackfeather Woods passing by the hills, 'til i hear the name

as the little spirit drifted over to relmyna's body, astara felt a dark emotion compel her. her hackles flared, and she wrenched her gaze from the crows to look full-bore at her sister, her aubergine gaze turbulent with raw emotion.

her sister, half-hung over her mother, was regarded coldly.

but astara did not move.

no hunger stirred in her bones to see her mother dismantled by her own wretched children, but astara understood the meaning in averna's intentions. wrestling with the incorrigible idea did not sit right with the estranged night-cub, but neither did letting carrion pick her mother's rotted body.

finding the idea of her mother ripped apart by lesser creatures brought a malign sense of despair to astara, and with a dark hiss she sat like a blackened sphinx before her mother, watching averna, waiting for her to commit her first inexorable crime against her own blood.