Bearclaw Valley till so many decades had passed

one more word she doesn't know—but one more word, regardless, in her mouth. blood, she parrots dutifully, and pulls away. his repetition of 'dead' gives her the answer, whether true or not. that eye is dead and gone, unmoving. the other is not.

both of hers are not dead, she. . .thinks. she blinks slowly, solemnly, and then closes one and then the other in a strange sort of double wink. satisfied with the feeling, she opens both of them wide and stares at the man's scarred face.

he must be important if he keeps coming to visit.

Avicus leans forward and licks his cheek to keep his scent and taste in her mind, and then turns away, heading back toward the den. she looks over her shoulder, wondering if he'll follow—but she doesn't linger too long. back into the darkness she retreats, where she'll wearily watch him until slipping into slumber.