Duskfire Glacier all this rotting fruit with you

There was something in the way the wren pulled her closer, something Imaq couldn't quite pin down but she did know she could easily become addicted to it. Especially if it meant more moments like this one, with Iana's breathy laughter in her ears like the rasp of a playful wind tangling in the pines. For just a moment, the dove's cracked gaze flicked down to the slow curve of the piebald's lips and that addiction morphed into a newfound hunger. 

She shook it off, for now, not quite understanding -- and if she were honest, afraid of what it could mean.