Blackfeather Woods and I bleed when I fall down

oh

at first, praimfaya assumes that it is a ghost it is a noise of the forest; a call of one of the ravens that haunt this place. upon second thought, she realizes it was too specific of a noise and not squawk like enough to have came from a bird. she pirouettes on swift feet, her movements that of a trained warrior as her frostbound gaze combs the forest.

it lands, cold and mercurial upon the other pale pelaged woman lurking in the shadows. you sound surprised, praimfaya observes, the voice that comes from her is lighter than the crushing grief she feels; coying, almost.