Silvertip Mountain put me in a cab to suburbia

she was woken; not by the insistent mewl of child, but the stroke of the bruin himself. for a moment astara flickered between that plane of distorted dreams and the reality, the last thing she was cognizant of was a great shape engulfed in red before she was brought forth to the present.

merrick. her eyes flickered. were those indigo depths capable of warmth, they might have flushed with fervor. tired as she was these days, he always managed to pull from those receding depths a glimmer of life. blood? for the little astara? she returned his kiss with one of her own, resting on her flank then as she eyed him and awaited his promising explanation.