Swiftcurrent Creek there's something in the static

moss. a child. a hateful trauma ripping its way through wren until silvertongue herself began to internalize it, each nerve ending woken by the clench of teeth and tears and the feel of her lover's body turned to miseried iron in her arms. eshe's explanation gave more, and she looked at the woman with softer eyes, worried gaze she turned back to wren. "i can do more than that, eshe. i can take her home."  a breath, gaze narrowed. "i know you are suffering, mi amor, but know that you did what was right." bloodstains upon her own fur as she held wren closer and closed her eyes against the slender neck. "eshe. leave her to me. you too have experienced something awful. rest," and there was no thought of akavir, only three women harrowed by the waking nightmare that silvertongue could only feel from the both of them. she was glad she had come back, had seen beyond what was there, and reached for wren.