Dawnlark Plains bone canticle

elodie listened.
the first had her feeling skeptical; a cougar who spoke, a cougar who spoke the tongue of royalty and terrorized him with it, a deer-dieu. it seemed outlandish.
but it was the start of something. the second story had her raising a brow, had her leaning forward on the balls of her feet. the third, the third; a demon, he had seen a demon, and now elodie was fully entranced, no longer able to tell her intrinsic white-veiled fear apart from her intrigue.
and the fourth was perhaps the most believable of all. witchhunts. those who claimed to be golden, slaying innocents all in the name of nobility. memories of the court flash in her mind, the earth-shattering snapping of frail necks, all for the crime of rumor.
by the fifth, she was trembling something fierce, violent shudders coiling down her spine.
je te crois, she murmurs, haze-accent slipping through her teeth. tu es en sécurité avec moi.