Altar of Twilight A shooting star

germanicus landed quite solidly. a fall that might have been broken by a patch of thick brush was intensified by the weight of crowfeather against him.

the air was punched from his lungs, and the eagle was forced to suck a great draught of breath. on the end of it, a weak and surprised inhale.

his pulse galloped, and not until he felt the trickling along his right shoulder did germanicus stir. "you will earn a scar," he grunted, gently sliding crowfeather from against his chest with a wince, "if you are not careful."

the mark of a tusk, low along his forearm.