Blackfeather Woods your stars in my lungs

The shadows seemed to shift, and then she stood before him, looking and smelling subtly changed. Or was it he and his perceptions that'd changed? He felt like a stranger on her doorstep, his tongue heavy and his teeth too numerous in his mouth. "Moonshadow," he breathed, his voice a low and husky from disuse. Even his voice felt strange.

Before he'd fully registered even his sister's presence, another inkdark shewolf shimmered into being. The whole encounter felt like a fever dream; like the same sort of thing he'd just woken up from. The stranger's silence seemed to intensify this, as well as the colorless glint of her eyes. She was a sharp and pretty thing, and he thought of a pale, lissome girl with a sudden pang of longing, but he did not know who or what it was he was pining for.

A beat too late, he remembered to lower his gaze, and splayed his ears and gave a perfunctory sweep of his tail to show his contrition. "I beg your pardon," he said in a soft, hoarse voice. Speaking over the hush of the forest seemed almost criminal, all of the sudden.