Lost Creek Hollow excessum

blood filled her mouth; oh, she hated him, she hated him, and her eyes burned with it, and there was only germanicus there, his dark silver face filling his vision, filling every nightmare. a shuddering, dragged breath, and kestrelcloud was there. another, and wren was there, the floral scent of dropped blossoms almost cloying in the summer air. and then — crowfeather, and silvertongue did not think she had ever heard him angry, heard him swear. tears swam in her gaze now, tears of shame and regret and desperation; once more she was laid bare beneath eyes she did not want to see her in that way. but now he had, he of the gaze she feared and wanted most, and she swallowed the hard edge of a sob. "she is with me, crowfeather." her voice was a failing whisper that regained hardness only when she looked toward germanicus. "you told akavir. wren knows. say it. say it. tell him." and her loathing for self only compounded to know she had refused the creek man telling any word of it, and now she threw back the sash and said see for yourself. "tell him now!" silvertongue cried, barely restraining the cry in her throat as she stood trembling and alone and refusing to be touched, embraced, held in this, the scene of her truest horror.