Altar of Twilight A shooting star

germanicus chuckled. the sound came more easily than he had expected. "they taste as they smell," he confirmed, gaze shining for a moment to see crowfeather's expression. and then all slid behind his metallic veneer, and he put his muzzle toward the scents again.

"shall we continue? or should we search for the less fragrant?" the half-smile played around his mouth a moment.

when germanicus turned back to survey the weald, he felt that his veins had quickened in some way.