Ouroboros Spine tuvragaa ⊪

masa, still, is a recluse. but that had always been how it was—and how it would continue to be, as far as he was concerned. moonglow had been welcoming, as welcoming as it could be given he did not converse with its people often.

he kept to himself. he patrolled, he hunted. he said thank you, he spoke only when spoken to. and one of those times was now—but who called, is what had been unexpected.

and the samurai has no choice but to heed her call. a dark head appearing from dead brush, eaten away by the frost of winter's cruelty, and yellow eyes swarming the white she-wolf.