Wheeling Gull Isle Some feathers I stole from the birds

The Melonii had long prided themselves on their role as the lords and ladies of death. And Maegi, too, had inherited this. . .gift. Death followed her everywhere.

But she hated it. And she had thought that upon casting off her ties to Blackfeather Woods, so, too, would she shrug off that grisly mantle.

Hare in mouth, she'd traveled to Niamh's bed, hoping to give a former enemy some sustenance. For healthy babes, after all. And to talk. What had brought her here? Why so far from the rest of them? Had her enemy's pack finally disintegrated, just as her own had done?

They were questions that would never be answered. She dropped the hare gently at the woman's paws, and began to leave, thinking the golden wolf was simply sleeping. Even sleeping wolves, however, didn't lie that still.

Hey, Maegi said, and pressed a forepaw against the rounded side. HEY! she said a little louder, and began to push upon the Redhawk with everything she had, jiggling the body that merely flopped back to where it rested.

Face drawn, she sank to the ground, feeling death rise up around her once more.

Oh, Jaes, she whispered. When would it end? Oh, Jaes.