Silverlight Terrace let death come

for good measure, and in the hopes it might elevate some of what she is feeling — these cloying things choking her, these invisible wounds that ache — she stomps on a deformed snowball, flattening it beneath her paw. the relief is immediate and disappointingly brief. without the ability to verbally talk through what she is feeling, it is just left to fester.

ugly and painfully.

towhee doesn't hear the noise meant for her, but ghost does.

the falcon descends and nips at her ear; the pain jolting her into an abrupt sense of awareness she hadn't had in the moments prior. a stupid, silly mistake that could've been dangerous.

she turns abruptly, golden gaze scouring the landscape until it falls upon the dark pelaged woman. towhee doesn't know her, not really, but she knows she is of moonsong.

an inquisitive tilt of towhee's head is given; too angry to feel embarrassed at her childish attempts to relieve the aggression her feels of being betrayed are morphing into.