Altar of Twilight A shooting star

the eagle blinked, and crowfeather was beset by a thousand emotions. the striking jet visage was shimmering with tears, and suddenly whisked away from germanicus.

"no," came the guttural, impulsive sound. the guardian reached out unsteadily to nudge the alare's face, back toward his own. "i am not injured."

"the skin is thinner here," he explained, seeking any excuse to pull back from the hearth-heat of their touch. germanicus gestured to the stemming slice. "the blood is always more profuse where it beats closest against the surface."

"it will cost us a day's rest in your glen, nothing more than that." voice that sought to be assurant now grew aloof, and he stood with a fiercely controlled exhale of pain.