Blackfeather Woods and she was a war zone of a woman

i like witch better. clocks tzar, if because it was his nature to be needling. how his mother didn't box him in the ears was anyone's guess — though he suspects perhaps his snark does not come across as effortlessly in ptero as it does when speaking it aloud.

tzar lets out a small hum as he assesses the stranger leading the way through the thick, dark woods. a chilling cry causes the hair along tzar's nape to rise, steps quickening as ghost takes to the sky in stead.

sure, leave me to be eaten... thinks tzar sourly, sparing the falcon a glimpse as he swoops above the wolves. tzar. offers the teenager simply.