Fox's Glade in my heart, in this cold heart

the harpy came upon her son wearied and eyes white-rimmed; an obscene flush of scarlet dousing the stark white of her coat. her blackened skull was held stiff, the freshly knitted scar on her neck laid bare where cerise fluid pumped freely. she sought the lowlands as compromise to her limping gait, and it was here the siren met her agitated son. 

she did not slow as she rounded upon him. svalinn’s earnest inspection was met with a feral snap of her wicked fangs, and a low snarl glutted in the chambers of her throat. her golden child’s worry and inquiries went unanswered, yet bullish and hobbling, caiaphas bent her form in the direction of the stream her aureate companion had mentioned, slowing her maddened clip only when the glittering banks came into view.