Sleepy Fox Hollow we devoured the gods

the fresh wounds smart against the icy chill of the water as it flows 'round him as if he were no more than a obstruction in it's path. he laps it down in quick gulps but it does not entirely erase the taste of praimfaya's blood...or the war wounds she left him with. his sins would always be on display, now; and like his people he would wear them with pride. death marks. three was surely suitable a number for killing the commander.

would she have been strong and healthy, it might've been his body left to decay near that boulder in arrow lake ...but it was not to be so.

despite that matricide sits heavy in his bones, he thinks he has found peace. peace with her death. peace with the part he played in it. worripa's mind follows only the path left by the sting of his wounds; wondering how he might treat them ...how long they would take to heal.

so focused on those questions that buzzed around like a wasp of nagging hornets, he does not hear the footsteps that approach him. instead, he is made aware by the soft croon of the shadow as she sweeps to his side. a rough rumble of greeting is given, cut short with a sharp inhale as it pulls at tender flesh.