Ouroboros Spine widow

The moon was nearly half-lit above her, and that veiled illumination caught upon the silver striations of her coat, lending a shine to the hard angles of her body. The woman's pace was slow - almost a dawdle, as she paused often to rest her feet or to stop and catch a whiff of an errant scent or other; but she moved, begrudgingly at times, she moved.

It became clear to her that this was a village. She had discovered traces of scents up one hill, among some trees, across an easy path; there were clumps of fur caught against the moonlight like spider's silk, trembling, upon some trees or along a fern-bed.

The wind, gusting and vibrant with petrichor, carried stronger scents the closer that Silanga got. She knew better than to cross that invisible line. Now was not the time in her life to be reckless, or rude. The woman looked back along her route and spied the ferns, then moved to double-back, and settled among them with great care.

She tilted and descended with tedious precision, as any old mare might, and rested her hips against the earth first, and slowly her shoulders, to await the morning in the coming hours. It would be best to get a good night's rest, Silanga thought; then she could try her luck.