Lost Creek Hollow gosling

every possible moment of silvertongue's time was spent with wren, coaxing food or drink or rest, simply sitting in silence with her love. for that was what she was. the songbird boy brought her to the borders, the sharpfang melting from shadow to shadow until she fairly appeared along the boundaryline with a pointed look to her sterling features. "can i help you?" the riverwoman said, not unkindly. her glassblue eyes toiled along his lupine offering, noting the odd missing nature of a single foot.