Redhawk Caldera greyscale

teya shook her head swiftly, sharply. "no. do — you not apologize. please." the last word was a little breathless. but now she found the courage to turn her head against the grass, feeling the cool of it under her cheek as her body shifted to follow.
the raven lay on her side facing bridget. the moon felt like it was filling the hollow of her hips with silver. "i know something now i not know before," and her voice was hoarse. the effort was monumental.
it exceeded its bounds and ran out, gilgamesh and floodwater —
"i love you both."
ibis, ibis, dancing in snow. her heart pounded. her pulse throbbed. the aura of a migraine threatened.
teya was silent, staring into the other's face.