Moonspear when i found the angels were drinking wine

she returned with cold beaver fat, scraped from a cache and clumped into a half-frozen ball. lying it atop a strip of oak bark, she breathed upon it, nudging the meal in arcturus' direction. "soft food for a sick belly," the duck murmured. she knew the queasiness that bloodlet could often induce.

a brief hesitation, and then kukutux gathered herself into the corner, brushing against the man, for it was unavoidable. shame warmed her ears, to lie so close to yet another of the ostrega brothers, but she was a healer, and he her patient. it was different.