Wapun Meadow pictoratus

the words were not for him.

and yet they were. he thought of his son's tormented face and the latin prayer which germanicus had at last remembered.

the eagle owed a great debt to mars.

the hunting of a witch could be such a fulfillment.

he listened to the woman's tread as it retreated. small paws, light gait. 

germanicus meant to be seen as he moved from hiding to take her scent. and when he looked down into the meadow, she was there.

darkmade. arachnid. 

he followed at a great distance, neither quickening nor slowing his pace.