Overture Downs your mother's throat clicks and my spirit swims right to the hook

aventus greatly overestimated phaedra’s situational awareness; fixations such as this meant that little information was likely to come within the purview of her attention, and every inch of restraint given to not pursuing the bird was an inch of that awareness cut back from background goings-on.

that being so, the bruin-jaw could go about his business as an alligator in the reeds, while phaedra minded hers, intrigued by the bir— 

sudden nearby splashing surpassed the threshold onto which her ignorance stood. the girl whipped her head any which way, trying in the fluster to find where the sounds were sourced. 

he was a streak of ink across parchment, spilling past her and, much to her horror, taking hold of the hapless killdeer and in a parabolic arc of cruelty, dashed it across the shingles. it vexed phaedra at once. she stepped forward half a body length and were she able she would have placed her hands defiantly upon her hips. 

“now why’d you go and do that for?!” She demanded, bristling, glancing between the boy and the runlet of gore draining into the substrate. her brow grew bunched and surly. 

in the morass of her memories, aventus’ place was among that of children that she’d met and repudiated. not a chink of recognition could lighten her look.

the girl huffed, body jerking away to leave. “actually forget it. i don’t care. trantüte.”