Fox's Glade someone only you could want

furs and lavishness. berries. a man named sen — whatever. his name tasted of them, and silvertongue did not care to know it. but all was correct of akashingo, down to its hellishness. a smile on her mouth until the last; it hung there, stricken into a frozen mask, and then dissolving. now the affectionate eyes grew harshly cold; she tried to find pity in wren's mien, in her limbs, and projected it was there now, in the way that her lover struggled to speak to her now. "what did you hear?" perhaps akavir had said something, but she had said nothing of that to him. had she? silvertongue willed peace, even as her limbs turned to pillared lead and her voice failed her.