Foggy Bottom Way ratero

it was the taiga that yawned in calling, and silvertongue almost answered. but the land was studded with the memories of blood and pain and eager welcome of death; the sharpfang turned away from the coolness of its fall-shifting details and went south. those memories of mother and father were all but gone, but her blood remembered such terrain and the bright dry heat. she'd come here for something anonymous, something that replaced akavir in deed if never in person, a man to fill the void left by the mayfair and arric, if she was being truthful. something wordless with no names given, a healing of sorts, to be wanted and unknown. from wren, too, she was running, though this was not a truth she allowed herself to contemplate. evening found her staring open-mouthed up at massive ironwoods as she padded between gigantic spires of stone and — "mierda!" forepaw stuffed to mouth, staggering back as the scorpion scuttled with glinting black carapace into the night. the pain was immense, and behind it a thrum of numbing poison etched upward into her throat. silvertongue fled on limping step as far as she was able, until a stumble tilted delicate head against low-hanging archway, and she collapsed in a groaning puddle of stung skin and trembling breath, rolling to one side to see the stars before blackness claimed her with resolution. silvertongue did not fight it, she hoped only that the venom of the glittering creature would steal the future while she slept, and with it, any chance of waking.