Blackfeather Woods Black Adder

She opens to him gently, opening to become whole. Prophecies upon the tongue.

Sometimes when he looks down, there are shades of a fraught child looking back up.

“Fun”, he purrs. He has not forgotten the nexus of their arrangement, not abandoned the needs of his little bird. “Save your bow, raven, you will need it for mortals who require such displays to feel powerful. I will speak to you of fun.”

He shifts to lay upon the earth, curling his elegant limbs, beckoning her to him. “Come, join me.”