Wapun Meadow why don't you run from me?

Yes. Yes, the dark and wicked shadow had seen it before. That single eye widened a fraction, a sudden draw to descend the hills and drive the deer away from the omen. She wished to confer with the vision, read the message in its deadened eyes, interpret the string it wound ripe for cutting. The Omen lingered on the mortal plane for reasons it could not speak. But speech was no factor to the fate, for it was not speech she used but intuition. Her ability to See.

The omen searches for its victim. How little she knew, that the canid of similar coat to her had seen the creature, had followed the creature even unto death. The doe would have no blood upon its hooves, no stain on its soul; it served as the messenger, the influencer, the manifestation of one's inner torment.

Who, among the living, walked with such a marked soul? Who was so deserved of the deathly spectre? All was a mystery yet, the threads not yet plucked by her sister, not yet drawn by her sister, not yet cut short by her own teeth.

Enraptured by the sight, by the vision become reality, Atropos yet remained in her trance her mind alive with the endless possibilities.