Wheeling Gull Isle The Faerie Court

Anathema was a quiet child, and even her cries were quiet. Those, too, faded to nothing when she was approached by her equally quiet blood-sibling. His touch soothed her, at least for now.
She went silent and turned those haunted blue eyes on him. For a moment she did nothing else. But then, Anathema was taken by a rare urge: to touch him the way he had touched her. She turned her face away from him for a moment, eyeing him from the side of her vision, then turned her muzzle back to lick his chin once. The girl tilted her head, puzzled, expecting more somehow. But nothing really happened.