Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

”a pity,” merrick rejoined, moreso for the careful contemplation of his target.
how beatific the boy, standing confidently among the tall grasses as he attempted to pinpoint his hunter.
the yearling knew with a blink of lantern-eyes that summarily the blood would run viscous and vibrant against such a backdrop of trembling snow.
”perhaps you know what a homba is,” merrick breathed, body poised, throat dry as wildfire ash. a story told to him by tadec in his childhood, and the only thing about his father that the young coywolf truly recalled.