Ravensblood Forest ketos

He wants to run from her. To find solace in the woods and wait for the raven's return. She does not advance upon his position and settles instead, sitting, pulling something from off one shoulder that he scrutinizes.

As her tale begins the boy remains wary. He paces on the spot and his legs feel like cement. If he wanted to run he could try, but the longer he waited there and the more he listened, the less and less he thought to do so. The smell of fish helped; he had never smelled it before, and it was strong. It made him salivate harder than the old deer bones had.

The longer the tale went the more curious the boy felt. He knew not to drift closer; it was a trap, it had to be. The tale itself meant nothing to him except for the odd names the woman used. Were they gods? Were they lost spirits, like what Averna tried to teach?

The woman scratched the dirt and the boy stared down at her paws, his jaw tensing each time she scored the soil. Was she casting a spell? May as well be; he could not move and did not even notice as her tale tapered away at the end, not until silence welled up between them and he startled, blinking and wide-eyed at her.

Those dark eyes traced her figure, stared at the skin and the contents she had left as an offering to him. Back and forth his eyes would go, and slowly he inched closer, but did not reach even once for the fish. There was no trust to be shared here — the boy trusted no one.