Ravensblood Forest Bloody Tails of Hunting Union

her laughter trills thru the air 'round them, the leaves of the towering trees rustling in their amusement as well, joining in on the mirth. a scowl forms upon scarred lips; salmon pink tongue drawling across his jowls. it was in good fun, he knows ( hopes, assumes! ) but that does not mean that he likes being the source of amusement ( though he deserves it ). it was. he admits lowly, smoky timbre lifting within his exasperated sigh.

the words tasted like rot. that was a dramatic overexaggeration but he was suddenly feeling theatrical. but my second sentence holds true. a druid is a druid, no matter their religion. on that, at least, he holds firm. magicks had no true home, did not have one true god: they flowed like the ever rising and ebbing tide. it came from the earth and the moon, from the stars. magick was older than gods; greedily harvested by them to be twisted into their bidding.

no, ingram says, after giving it a moment of thought. i will favor no child. i will mentor him ...and his siblings if they return to me. but i will no longer favor one over the other. for favoring only ended in perdictable disappointment.