Blackfeather Woods don't ask the gods to help

for a while, there is silence -- and astara was fine with that, for she was accustomed to quiet. wintersbane seemed to be weighted heavily by conflict, and if she wondered at all about his internal thoughts, she needn't wonder for long, for he eventually put forth a contrite speech, noble with apology.

his empathy, and his contrition, and careful words -- all were wasted on the child, who simply regarded him with that same cool indifference as before.

she said nothing, same as she always had, same as she always would. instead, she simply looked upon him in the detached way an executioner might look upon its thousandth charge, knowing soon that it would all be over. wintersbane was free to go, to leave -- and as he walked back to the place where her mother rested, astara wondered if it would horrify him to learn that relmyna's body had been devoured by her daughters, and the rest cached to innumerable stores across blackfeather.