Blackfeather Woods and when she looked, what could i ail?

when he spoke, relmyna started, her shoulders tensing from where they arched above the stone.
cicero had not answered, but wintersbane had heard her all the same.
she straightened, lifting; her eyes could not leave the marker for the toxicologist's blood just yet, but presently relmyna tore her gaze away. against the cold grey light he was beautiful, worried, his eyes filled wth an expression that the scarred woman had recognized as belonging solely to her. for her. she swallowed.
loneliness; the claw of it scraped o'er her awareness and despite her better judgement, relmyna went to him with an aggrieved pallor to her features. if allowed, she sought to tentatively reach toward his thick ruff, toward the warmth of his larger frame, toward him and what he offered, the stoic tundrian with a heart that beat resolutely for blackfeather.