Bearclaw Valley some kind of soul come from within us

how strange a name appeared -- particularly when it was rarely spoken.

astara watched in riveted silence, the only movement of her frame when averna's chanting intermingled with the piercing screams of the hare.

it was over shortly; her fur was on end as averna glided forth, procuring the bloodied hare for her to eat. wordless, she took the offering in her jaws and ate of its flesh, unmoving as averna painted crude drawings to her flank.

all the while, the whispers of the void seemed to grow louder.