Lone Star Mountain [m] the jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

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Blossom….didn’t know how to feel.

Momma was hurt, so badly that the blood haunted her dreams at night. Even Boone, he had come back drenched in sanguine. There was a healer, but Blossom couldn’t look at Reverie without cringing, remembering all the horror as her blood splattered against the ground.

Blossom Mayfair didn’t know how to feel.

Perhaps that was the problem.

She tried every feeling. No rage, no despair, definitely no happiness. She went through life shellshocked, functioning on bare essentials. Her emotions felt like a tightly wound ball of yarn, or the contained fury of a thunderhead. Then, it happened.

Something in her, that tight wound thunderhead, snapped into bold lightning and howling winds. The fox who had taken the rabbit before her eyes was met with a mouth full of teeth, seizing it by the back of the head. There was something vicious in those dual eyes as Blossom rammed the creature into a tree, again, over and over until it lay in tatters at her feet.

Blood was in her mouth. The Willows seemed to reach for her with gnarled fingers. Blossom wailed a high note of alarm, of despair, and she ran.

Alone, she tucked herself into a crag beneath the high nose of a mountain, and cried until her face was clean, and her eyes ached.