Blackfeather Woods [m] Gonna raise some sand in the dead o' night

So quietly, so diligently,
she simply manifests in the space between two breaths.

Always faithful.

Wordlessly he studies her- that fleshy little body hovering over wiry limbs, eyes as two silver mirrors capturing his silhouette to show it back to him.

Between them is unnerving stillness. There is no banter, no commonplace theatrics.

“You will do anything for me,” his voice rings. Not a question, not a command.

An oath spoken.

He who sows the wind will harvest the storm.