Ravensblood Forest ketos

The boy watched the branches of the trees. It felt wrong to hold his head so high, but he watched for the shape of those wings and saw only the tremble of those outstretched arms against an eager wind. The petrichor of a coming rain hung around him. When he could not find proof of avian life he resumed the sulking posture that had become the norm for his body, shoulders bunched and tail low but crooked.

The stranger's greeting startles him immediately — having not noticed her arrival, the voice penetrates the forest's shade and finds his ears as if to strike for them. They bend back immediately while the fur of his nape serrates, and he shrinks.

As nervous as he is about being found by another, some part of the boy is elated. Desperate is more his tune, although he cannot separate the two sensations. He dares to raise his eyes to meet her face and when he sees the white coat he thinks, Averna! — was she here to take him home?

What had she said? She had called him something but it wasn't a word he knew. That voice did not hold derision, nor did it carry the indifference and distraction that the ghost usually carried. It was lighter, warmer. He stole another glance and briefly matched his gaze with her's, noticing the sharp green, like fresh garlic shoots. Not white like ice.

The boy's body stiffened and he swaggered back a half-step, immediately shutting down any good feeling he held for being found; he did not know this woman and that made her dangerous.