Bearclaw Valley my heart is in economy due to this autonomy

mayb forward dated a day or so

the little blackbird returned, her expedition to the south successful. between her jaws she held relmyna's parting gift to her daughter -- the last powerful artifact of their witch-blood, of their heritage. through this conduit, astara would finally be given voice by the whispering void.

she intended first to set up an altar fashioned as her mother had done so in blackfeather, so long ago. bearclaw was a valley rife with stones -- one would make a fine courtyard for her designs.

by a den (not knowing this den was where merrick had first drew breath in this wretched world) astara paused; here, the resonant energy of her dam's pelvis seemed strongest -- as if beckoning her that this was where her soul wished to reside forever. astara glanced around; this area was secluded, obscured by the heavy arms of inundated pine boles. there was just enough of a clearing here before sharp edges of stone arose like a toothy mantle.

it was here astara placed the jutting pelvic arch, her indigo eyes darting from shadow to shadow. there was much to be done: the pinestraw would need to be pulled clear of the stony table, and the fallen twigs removed -- but this would serve as a fine place for mother dearest.