Bearclaw Valley some kind of soul come from within us

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Upon her word, the dark one stood still and looked back upon the pale whisp, Averna. It was no surprise that she would remain quiet. The use of her name must feel foreign and was uncharacteristic of Averna -- she had never used her own name, though she knew it from reference by the wolves of the woods, and she had never used Thief's name either, not before now -- but that was because the names meant something more than simply a moniker to call another by. It was a spiritual thing for her, and only now she could possibly truly come near posessing what being Averna was truly like.

The silence might have seemed harmonious in some way if not for the squalling of the hare beneath her foot.

Averna moved her head down and she started to whisper in tongues. Astara might remember some of them from back in the Blackfeather Woods. Whispers of their gods and their spirits, whispers that Averna had heard her entire life and only sometimes spoken aloud by the other wolves. She hung ominously over the hare's head for some time as she whispered these, almost as if she was telling it a secret, though the words were too loud to be only for the creature's ears. Then she dug into its flesh and after the screams intensified for a few loud seconds they fell deaf abruptly as she tore out its chest and with that, its heart. Eat, the priest commanded her sister as she lay the warm heart before her.

Then she took the remains of the bleeding out rabbit and moved in a fluent motion towards Astara. Averna started to smear the blood across her sibling's stomach in some pattern -- one might decipher a spider, vaguely, though wolves not from the Blackfeather woods might not make it out in its roughness and the darkness of the blood on Astara's midnight fur -- while she continued to murmur words, and made sure that Astara did as commanded while she did this.