Porcupine Ridge the things we lost in the fire, fire, fire

tiny post for now but 0: !!

Another, sunknived;
her nostrils flare wide and pink as she looks upon the obsidian-struck vagrant; had she, too, been alone and terribly vulnerable for it? That sword in the sky that had come for her? The kind of thing that was drawn to unguarded flesh as hound to hare? Had she slept to the depths of herself? Been refashioned in myriad manner? Enquire all perched upon ruined mouth:
but Andraste could not speak, for the undertang of iron that did not come from her had taken root within lungs; the mem'ry of searing eidolic lashing up throat, wordless. Her mother might have reprimanded her of staring so shamelessly  —  for shirking now the skyclime patrol for that lurking lioness.

Eventually, however, the fée found herself; sealed her red lips, and whiled away the next few heartbeats with looking o'er the vale, herself; more than a bit abashed. Insatiable wonderment flickered within hesitant halfsights, telling all that which she could not bring herself to say:
I am not so alone, in this.