Greatwater Lake with bloodied feet across the hallow'ed ground

one pawpad is cracked and bleeding, leaving here and there a rusted stain on the earth. she finds herself rarely within the Sunspire's borders save to patrol them. still, it is the first time she has come down the south of the range; walked the edges of the lake that exists only a few miles from the dark blight on the horizon. she watches it now as she stills on the water's edge, twilight heavy with the sounds of insects and warbling night birds. 

it is smaller. the darkness no longer seems to reach from it but merely to seeth, simmer quietly. she regards it, wondering idly at what has her tread so close after so long. breeze pushes across the lake from the north, bringing with it the scent of ash and pushing ripples across the surface, the girl made still.
@Damien

But more than ash the air around the lake was flooded with that of blood brought to him by the same breeze that caressed the darkling's pelt. It brought Damien back to the wake world and pulled him closer to the water where the scent was uninterrupted. Eventually he found a solid trail that lead northwards and he followed it without second thoughts. It lead to a woman bathed in darkness and stars, much like his own lover, and her scent was wrapped in blood.

Are you hurt? asked the dark prince perhaps in search of an obvious answer. He wasn't the lord of the lake, but since his group was settled near he felt a great deal of protective ownership over those soils and he would investigate whoever came too close.

blood & fear
the words bloom to mind suddenly, violently, and she remembers. there is no trace of the same recognition in Damien as she stifles her own, no trace of the raving man from the cavern. this is something else, something constructed and solid, and to his question, she dips her muzzle a fraction in silent affirmation. her forepaw twists upward a fraction, proffering the burning laceration, small as it is; insignificant as it is. 

she can scent the wood on his pelt. and so it still stands, even if Vaati does not lead them. she wants to know more - do the deformed pups still live? does the witch lurk somewhere in her self-named hell? her paw shifts back onto the earth, she straightens. "it's nothing." she waits, sharply curious and dimly wary, viridant gaze finding for a moment the silver one that had, in her memories, hosted nothing but madness.

You get my 800th post!

And not even the vaguest of memories of her can be retrieved from memory. Back then Damien was but a vessel for madness, fueled by fear and guilt and shame, so he wouldn't have been able to acknowledge her presence in the caverns that night if he tried. At that point the night-kissed girl had the advantage of knowing intimate things about him, and Damien was oblivious. All he knew was that the smell of her blood was dangerously sweet.

Her ankle raises to reveal a gash on her pawpad, and the dark prince licks his lips as an instinctive reflex to inhibit uncalculated actions. I'm sorry but we don't have the means to help you, he says, a polite way to say "please leave". Or maybe a civilized way to say "leave before I finish the job". Now he was being merciful.

congrats! <3

it is obvious there is no recognition there; only an absence of madness. "do not trouble yourself."  stiff and courteous, as if they were strangers, as if they did not come from the same dark place. it is this that has her swing her muzzle back toward the wood, festering like an open sore on the horizon. 

"does blackfeather still stand?"  a simple, casual question where it not for the stiffness of her voice. but to a peek at her cards; she knows intimate things about the male and she wonders if the question will bring to light memories, violence, suspicion. perhaps only a simple answer, but there is a hint of tension in her shoulders that speaks of her readiness should his reaction be any of the former.

And for a moment Damien thought their interaction would be short lived, that the light of their relationship would be snuffed before even existing and he tarted to turn in dismissal of their encounter. But her delicate lips of night formed a mix of words that Damien never expected to hear from this stranger. 'Does Blackfeather still stand?' Like a marble statue Damien freezes, every inch of fur standing on end as he aborts his previous movement and returns to process the situation.

The mark upon his shoulder had faded long ago, and the scent o him bore nothing but trails of his lover and a few others that no longer carried the mark of Blackfeather. The only logical explanation for her having tied him to Blackfeather Woods was if she knew he ha history there.

Cold, menacing eyes bathe he night sylph with distrust, and he presses forward with a preventive step. He knew not how far Kove's control of the business had grown, but he wouldn't just drop his defenses when a red flag like this went up so obviously.

What do you know about Blackfeather he asked. Somber, demanding. Whatever she knew he would make her confess one way or another.