Bramblepoint Green-Cheese Moon

it was unclear how long qiao had been running, her wares clanking as they jangled against the thickened braid of vine which hung her throat like an unseemly torc. overhead a shadow darted, the silent flight of an owl as it raced beneath a cold autumn moon. 

her departures always coincided with mysterious deaths; by the time suspicious eyes turned her way, qiao’s hearth was cold and the first of her footprints long gone beneath a layer of crisp snow. 

she came to a crossroads, the scents here as thick as the corded vines which made her collar. wolven brethren used this highway often, as did lesser things. here qiao sat beneath the cold glint of the distant moon, her mouth moving in a silent spell as she searched for direction of the crossroad’s most recent traveler.