Phantom Hollow Der Winter wird auf den Wangen,

Visibly, she relaxed after achieving the black pearl's agreement. Milky eyelids fluttered as they sheltered moonstones, a sigh of relief exhaling through scarred, once-split lips. 

The exile settled upon the clouds of her haunches - a refusal to let herself slide into fatigue and the deceptive security of slumber. She could not feel safe here; nor did she know if the broken raven at her paws was pursued. 

A vigilante she would be on this dark night, silvers peering into the darkness from where she perched protectively over her ward's prone form. 

Every sound reverberated against her perked auds and only as the world began to lighten into the dreamy blue of dawn did they relax against her skull - stiff and sore, ringing from the strain of listening so very intently. 

The other boot would not drop, or so it seemed, on this day.