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merrick was fascinated. it did not show beyond the emberglow of his single eye, but the mass of scars shifted as he tilted his head to one side. born during a battle, encircled by thorns, with a mother that whirled back to the fight at once.
the feathers shifted alongside him, a ripple of satiny black only visible to himself;
astara had been a jealous blackbird in her life, and he was amused to see it did not end with d —
no no no no.
"you were born like a spartan," merrick observed dryly, the edge of a tooth showing in a icewater smirk.
the lyricism of ash's story had not escaped him. he gazed at her for a long moment. "have you followed in your mother's steps, to fight as she did?"
his cheek ached. he grinned.