Ravensblood Forest Wer um die Göttin freit, suche in ihr nicht das Weib

fangs slip around the smooth object, struggling to gain hold. fangs tighten suddenly around it as paw steps grow near, hackles prickle only a moment when the voice breaks the silence. the Rabe does not like being surprised, and it makes the matter of her paw more urgent. a sharp tug, and she frees the object, pressing her paw to the earth gingerly. 

coal-dark gaze finds the stranger, a burly male with the sun set into his eyes. the object hangs still from her lips, with a neat toss of her head, she tosses it toward him so that it lands in the middling distance between them. a rib bone, sun-bleached and gently curving, one part painted crimson with her blood. a rabbit's, once, before the heart it protected ceased to beat.