Bearclaw Valley like phony clothes, but i really like my

was this some fucking joke?

astara watched the lone figure that threaded through merrick's claim: she was dark, she was lissome, she was

beautiful

astara had begrudgingly accepted the men in their claim on the sole premise they were men, and could not possibly .... no, couldn't possibly threaten what she and merrick had..

but this -- this girl..

she strode towards the little blackbird in long strides, glittering eyes hard as gems -- who, who, who was this pretty little bird in her forest?

Phoebe was blissfully unaware of the eyes that were on her, the prowling that had been occurring. It was probably for the better; her interests were elsewhere as it were and the path that she roamed through a thick glade. Nose down, rifling through the green growth, she was certain she had scented something of interest.

Mushrooms, namely, trapped somewhere beneath detritus of a long autumn past. The damp earth of spring would provide them with much to grow and thrive off of, and she wanted to know just what they were. Edible or not, it didn't matter. They would have a purpose in whatever she decided fit.

If she could find them, anyway.

She paused, a paw and leg curled up against her as she turned slightly to rummage along a rotten tree. She used it to reach, to tear gently at the earth and draw in the scents that that were tilled up with it. Nothing here, but close? A thoughtful note hummed in the air, and she stepped along the trunk and slid deeper into her study.

astara observed the woman, and in her watching, became painfully aware of how different her body was from phoebe's. how her sharp lines had been replaced by soft curves -- vulnerable curves -- and how thick and unwieldy she had become.

she thought of what it might take to steal one's body from another, to wear them as one might wear a cowl of hareskin.

as phoebe raked along damp soil and wood astara scuttled closer like an incensed shelob -- the only thing missing was the clickclick of her mandibles clacking in disapproval. she figured this pretty thing would notice her after a time; surely, merrick had taken note of her and her lissome body, unburdened by the ugly, disgusting shape of whelping.

And notice her, she finally did.

It came at first by way of some unsettling notion as she raked at the earth, but she tried not to give it so much thought. This was hardly the first time Phoebe had felt the brushing sense of danger close—if anything, she had to wait until it was a certain growing pit of dread before she would fully detract from her own actions. Had she thought this more of a wild and untamed sort of place, say like the very hinterland she had come from to begin with, she may have abandoned her duty sooner.

Yet the passage of time from one point to another did not take long to reach, and once that nagging feeling breached the forefront of her thoughts, she gave in to careful pause with a breath that was a bit too shaky for her liking. A grand, deviant betrayal to the calm gathering she put into her actions thereafter, and the turn of her head revealed someone snaking about in the growth just beyond her radius of awareness.

For a moment, her eyes watched Astara carefully, before the swell of her flank explained to Phoebe that she was no stranger. She was one of Merrick's, though a bit more than just some commoner rallied to his cause. Phoebe didn't know any better of what to think of her other than she was evidently of a higher station and presumably, Merrick's mate.

"Hello," she offered gently, though submission had well begun to eke its way into her features. Astara was a commanding force, sharp and harsh in figure as much as she was in that keening gaze. Phoebe knew this look, though she could not recall if it had ever been so pointed in her direction before; it reminded her of her mother, of Raven, and suddenly of the plateau and it's broad lake, and it tore her gaze away from the matron severely.

astara's demeanor was partially placated by the softening of phoebe's features when she first noticed her, but it was truly the harsh aversion of her gaze (as if pained) that subdued astara the most. mistaking that sharp nick of nostalgia for fear, the blackbird settled confidently on her haunches.

only, when she did so, she felt her enormous gut shift over her haunches and spill like gelatinous meat. the very sensation was alienating and humiliating -- especially in front of such a lissome creature. immediately, the nightshade stood -- this time strutting towards where phoebe had been ruminating the earth. thrusting her nose into the damp loam, astara sniffed the area curiously -- what was it this pretty girl had been looking for?

Her actions seemed to settle Astara, but only briefly; Phoebe missed the roll of discomfort that rippled through the dark matron, and even if she had been privy to seeing such she may have only presumed it was her presence that caused him. Even so, that emotion seemed to exude from her—her rising and approach towards Phoebe only amplified the deference she had towards her, and she turned away further.

At least, for a moment.

When she realized that the dark matron was rummaging through where she had been, she couldn’t help but turn back to watch her. Her gaze stole away to the burdening swell of the other woman, but she cast it further away just as swiftly over the tree and its secrets. A chord of tension seemed to wrap itself around her neck then, only for the songbird to realize that she was holding her own breath; it escaped her noisily, unfortunately.

“I was hoping to find mushrooms,” she explained, not quite realizing that Astara’s silence was not one of choice. “Have you seen any? Some of them are helpful, others not so much, but I wanted to know what we have.” It went hand in hand with all she wanted to do to help, all she wanted to accomplish with what skills she had at hand.

an ear canted back at the exhale, but true to form astara made no comment. her nose held most of her attention -- or specifically, the scent that lingered within it.

mushrooms? she had never had much interest in those dank and tepid things; they smelled of decay and ruin to her, and so, she had largely avoided them.

here the earth was musty, holding but a faint scent. she raked the damp earth with her claw as phoebe had done before. where had she seen mushrooms?

the birchwood. astara was off in a pantherine prowl -- not so far from tumbleview was a felled birch that had hundreds of little fungi-heads sprouting along its collapsed flanks. astara had never paid the thing any mind, but if it was what enthralled the darkling bird's attention, astara would lead her to it.

She received no answer yet again, but understood from the stalking away that she was meant to follow. Or at least she hoped she read between the lines right as she did—Phoebe could not help but keep a slight distance between her and the matron; she didn’t want to find out how sharp those teeth of hers were. If she was anything like Merrick, and Phoebe believed this, then they were very sharp.

Yet all notion and concern of that faded away when she saw where Astara led her. Phoebe light up, not unlike a spark against a distant darkness. Her mouth went agape for a moment; how did she miss all this? Though in her defense she hadn’t explored this pocket of the timber and her nose would have perhaps led her there eventually.

“There’s so many,” she said in a whisper, and paced ahead to investigate.

a malevolent thought visited the blackbird as she lead the pretty thing through the woods. what would merrick think or feel, if his newest little bird was slain in the forest?

would he weep to see such a pretty thing desecrated? would astara see in that singular eye a grief, a love, that should only be reserved for her? she put such thoughts to bed, stepping back as phoebe flitted to the birch, her eyes wide in surprise and interest.

were any of them poisonous? if only astara knew more of these morels; she might try to force phoebe to eat one of them!

in any event, astara did not linger long after. phoebe was mesmerized, which provided the dark sylph enough time to slip away unnoticed.