Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

November 2nd. For @Mahler, ft. @Agana ♡ (Please let Aggie respond, first!)

Wakefulness is like the distant and fleshless touch of the lune;
It coaxes her from repose, almost an unwanted and unwelcome bed-guest. Whelp again, in a womb of soft light and agitated whispers; overdue at the very seams. It is necessary; so is the slumber, gumming at unshorn eyes. If there is a voice it is a melding of distant mother and desolate father and daring brother; gekking of harvest foxes; manticore's quartet; all, churning in many languages at once.

Lashes unveil; underworld, half-seen;
sprig of some green, lax upon tongue.

But the touch is a voice, yes; Agana;
and then there is the Lair, ever bursting; and it becomes viscreal in that agonizing way. Stone seem chilled this morning; lichens stripping them to their skin like maids to austere women of elegance. What little trees there are beneath the autumn skies hold fast, sentinel. Mayhaps she has dreamt of deer, in their handsome manner, fattening while the fleeting chance is there even as in realism, they are not. Young light holding motes; she wonders if she should follow them through the morning, if it is a statement or a longing. There had been the hunt, yes; a new bit of scarring, further, lower than where she had been struck, yes. Dagwood's holler; feathers and flesh between fang, yes—

Had the argent allowed the stricken to be sundered to sleep? Upon a forage? 
Rises to rabbitsoft paws; chords, sleepstrained.  "Forgive me,"  she cannot be enraged; not towards such an innocent slight. Her own hunt-hurts could be mended later, later; it was for the Court's youngest that she drew close to her companion in concern. Wisps to her littermate words that curdle and cloy upon her tongue,  "please, show me what you have gathered."

She must have exhumed some manner of property, if she had let the stricken rest in repose as she had.
( and could not do away with the shame that comes with an unbidden sleep! )