Silvertip Mountain BLACK FEATHERS

every muscle aches from carrying her mother's body across the plains, but it's nothing compared to the crushing vise of grief that grips her at each moment. her chest tight, her stomach empty—it's as if some giant creature has torn her open, scooped out all her insides and left her hollow.

her prized skeletal possession and matted, awful appearance are at odds with the beauty of the woman's resting place.

she cannot take her eyes off of Astara, even as Merrick speaks.

of course. it's the only thing to do. her father's words are less a call to war and more an echo of what is already in her own heart. she will not let this pass; she cannot let this pass. 

she ought to continue her quest to find Karst. ought to inform Erzulie and Rosalyn of current events.

but this eclipses all other concerns.

Avicus nods as Merrick's voice fades away, as he turns to sit and mourn over his wife. her gaze, the twin of her mother's, stares straight ahead, cold and dry.

so empty, so broken, that not even tears will fall.

only Nyra's blood will make her whole again.