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

He smiles for her loyalty and eagerness, the soul of a sunless bird come back to the surface of the earth because she is still hungry and wanting for more. Her fringed black shawl lifting to breezes, blood leaking from the bite at the base of her skull. Harmless little thing. She is ready.

With a silken voice he bids her to, “fly.”