Haunted Wood Cicada night

the shadow was impassioned. the ink of him flowed in poetry toward germanicus. he let out his breath in a long exhale when crowfeather spoke, and looked away toward the grass lit by moonglow. it wavered in a wind that bent in their direction, and rippled the leaves above, and the black water of the river nearby.

"because my face will never be the one to strike you. but you must learn to defend all the same."

the words were plucked without his usual care, for it took all of germanicus not to say more.