Herbalists' Cache gloom days

as for black bird, he comes from the opposite direction. the saatsine hunters are like two ends of the same string, drawing closer, and closer, and closer, unfurling from a webbing tautness, until—

both appear, into the same small gap in trees the rogue lurks within. where he scavenges from their cache, one blackfell had personally partook in filling.

his eyes are of the intensity like flowing blood, hot, searching, skimming over the broad form of the charcoal stranger. it is cruel, the way he gawks. it is proficient, the glance he exchanges with black hawk; a woman he has not met yet, but recognizes off of mere scent alone and passing exchanges prior. he sees she is like a roaring fire, or a turbulent current of water, and he feels in her a kindred spirit.

he burns. he burns with need. a need for violence, a need to spill blood, to make ruin of something once living. this is not the first thief he had encountered, and it would only be fair to do him the same as he had done @Nagruk. only he would not come out so lucky.

he swarms when black hawk does.