Stone Circle Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.

Towhee is not her mother. In truth, the bedouin woman who had raised Figment is little more than a kind stranger to her.

But when that call breaks through the golden aspen of prisnálund it tolls like renewed hope- and she runs to it, fervently, like a child, and by the time she catches sight of that fire-rimmed silhouette through the trees beads of tears have formed in the corner of her eyes.

“Towhee,” she greets, fighting through the waver on her voice. “It’s so good to see you-“