Moonspear [m] doppelgangland

The night was clear—unlike his thoughts. As much as he strode the grounds of the Moonspear and dutifully marked its borders, interrogated others, and hunted for his fellow comrades, there was an unease that pulled at the man’s muscles, and whenever the unease began to shift to a burning itch, his eyes would seek out the distant sight of the Sunspires, pensive and thoughtful—and for a stolen moment, soothed.

So when Sialuk quietly beckoned him to her ulaq, the basilisk son was not surprised. She was a woman of keen perception, and idly, he wondered if she sensed his restlessness—if he remained as open for her to read as the changing of a turbulent tide.

When he arrived, she was not outside as he had anticipated—and he gave a moment hesitation. Ducking forward, the tall silver wolf slipped through the entrance of her home, gaze of ice seeking her out and finding her nestled within the furs of brown—her pale coat stark in contrast. Gently, he leaned against the frame of the entrance—were he a man, he would have hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of a pair of faded denim. “Starwoman,” he murmured, maintaining the facade of a blank canvas and wondering if she could read right through him—

—perhaps in ways even he could not.