Wapun Meadow waiting in my room, and i lock the door

swift were the hungering jaws that closed in on a light pink nose — the vole never knew of its ending, only the shadow that came to pass over it. 


holding the limp token of her efforts, astara turned — for along the tree line she heard the light tread of another. 

a pale dove roaned by soft grey and ash appeared, following what seemed to be a scent. perhaps astara’s, perhaps someone else’s. the blackbird settled her cold gaze on the stranger in studious interest, vole dangling from a hooked tooth.