Haunted Wood the maw

periane stood still beneath his gaze—silver eyes, assessing, knowing. his presence was like stone, like the sky before a storm. steadfast. inevitable.
the word "lamb" curled around her like a brand, and though her ears flattened briefly in bashfulness, she did not break.
she had been called many things. but this—this was new.
sister periane, she answered, her voice soft but sure. a priestess’s voice. a servant’s voice.
[indenther pale eyes lifted to meet his, steady beneath his circling steps. she knew what he saw—fragility, grace—but she was more than her softness.
priestess, she added, not as boast but as truth. who are you?
there was reverence in her tone—not yet for him, but for the weight in the air, for God that stirred at their meeting.