Bearclaw Valley mesmeric revelation

through the miasma of sickness and woe, Avicus turns her gaze upward. the yip catches her attention at the tail end of her retching, when the worst of it had passed. she lets out a chuff of her own, forcing sound up a ragged, sour throat.

it's the young man with whom she's hunted a time or two. he is quiet, and she doesn't mind his company—even if he was lousy at chasing squirrels.

normally, she is okay with being alone with her thoughts.

but her thoughts are incessant now, self-deprecating, dark, twisted things, dragging her lower than she already is and feels. she is tired of wallowing in filth both literal and metaphorical. she needs a friend.

so she waits.