The Tangle I said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused

two scents wove out of bluepeace and into the tangle beyond; one belonging to her cousin, and the other to sobeille’s most darling pupil — her sister.

sobeille did not possess the same fondness for the tangle her family harbored. it was thorny and difficult; game elusive and water tinged with brackish iron. but her family had decided to come here today and familial duty compelled her to follow.

all on account of a particularly loud stranger.

it was not his swears that earned the cool bite of his gaze (which he could control); it was his gender (which he could not). sobeille did not trust him.

rather than make it known she watched from the blackened vines, sobeille crouched — eyes trained in wait on the man that darkened their doorsteps by simply existing.