Wapun Meadow waiting in my room, and i lock the door

the vole raced through the air, an offering of good faith given by the shadow. as ibis glanced upon her astara procured a thin smile, too clinical and swiftly summoned to be genuine. 

astara watched the processing that flitted across ibis’ gaze as she made sense of astara’s gift. a solemnity overtook the wraith as she watched, for in eyes astara had discovered a rippling language that few spoke and even fewer mastered. in that lexicon she saw all manner of feeling, emotion — her form hunched as ibis bent forward, the inviting line of her slim and smoke-dusted neck visible...

with a silent lurch forward,  the blackbird lunged — teeth primed for delicate dove.

yet if she hit her mark it mattered little, for it was not in blood that astara measured her wholeness. she sought another, far more elusive currency — the emotions distilled within her quarry’s eyes. 

with something akin to a crow’s grating laugh, the wraith snatched the vole and pulled away. her eyes remained focused to ibis’ own, a cruel sneer playing her features.