Black Morass her body

irene listened in silence, the melody of Ione's voice wrapping around her like a veil. the reverent tone stirred something unfamiliar in her chest—part awe, part unease. she had never thought to pray to gods, never believed the heavens above or shadows below concerned themselves with wolves in the mire. yet, in this moment, the air seemed charged, the morass alive with something she could not name.

her emerald gaze flickered toward ione, watching the sway of the reverend mother's frame, the gentle motion of her lips. irene’s claws dug faintly into the mud beneath her as she considered speaking, but the sacred weight of the moment held her tongue. instead, she lowered her head slightly, her eyes closing for a breath of stillness.