Broken Antler Fen grow back your sharpest teeth

Along the reedy margin where grass meets tree, small foot-marks pass; straying no further than the last cedar. Before the stars had left the skies she had risen, and shivering in the coldness, by moonlight had tried to hunt the swallows in the glen. To move her frozen bones a bit in this cold country while @Machiavelli stilled in precious hours of sleep.

The wind had upended her breath and her steps were black on the frosty grass. She’d pushed herself down, sprawled to the earth when a shimmering trail of silver crossed against the dusk, trusting none in the wake of the strath. Splaying feet, Eset did not believe the figure that moved with such familiarity as any but a trick of light. She flattens her cold ears closer to her head and watches.