Blackwater Islands on the low

accipitra didn't notice saint's eyes had opened. she was too involved in her own little world. her own eyes remained seemingly sealed shut -- unbeknownst to her they were mere hours from opening themselves.

she could feel rather than see saint's presence; the thickness of his milkbreath, the soft stir of warmth from his body. with a bullish grunt accipitra pursued it, each clumsy thrust of her paw bringing her closer to saint's face.