Bearclaw Valley don’t get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gates

she remained unaware of those who lingered; merrick near and aventus far away. her two children — perfect as the last — were tucked between her elbows and thin flank; she, blackbird, curled ‘round them like the toothy oroboros.

her second daughter the first born, slipping into this world with a subtle ripple that forever changed the fabric of time. and her second son, second-born — a quiet and unassuming arrival that discretely disguised the coming of greatness.

to merrick’s laugh, only a twitch of her ear as she roved the endless threads of sleep; astara would not wake until afternoon when the height of her fever broke.