Ravensblood Forest The white owl in the belfry sits.

There was no missing the change in mood in the room; Raleska caught the tightening of Stryx's jaw. She looked away politely, almost apologetically -- it had not been her intention to dredge up bad memories.

Stryx's voice was tinged with something tangible. Raleska believed it might be resentment. "You do have an affinity for it." She offered, trying for a lightness in her tone that belied the frigid breeze of austerity she had just felt raze the room. "We don't have to talk about it. I don't want to talk about my past, either. Where do you live now?"