Wapun Meadow waiting in my room, and i lock the door

astara woke to merrick gone, off to some unknown haunt. she worried little, though the coldness left by his departure was keenly felt. they were bound together now by blood, augmented by killing; he would return, for who else was there to receive him?  

the blackbird had not partaken in the crude ceremony of indra’s disposal. her hunger had taken her across the snowbound landscape, where she stretched on lithe limbs eager to run.  

 the scent of vole rose to her muzzle, inviting her to a soft mound where thin sheaves of grass scarcely poked through. astara paused at the entrace of a slender tunnel bored through the snow; here she waited poised over shadowed mouth, jaws ready.