Lost Creek Hollow avisame

in her desperate heart, the star was forming a plan. one secret. one silent on all tongues. one that would — but she could not yet commit to it. the idea of her name attached to one of these children forced a deep and ravening anxiety to rise in her spirit. "crow — something," she suggested softly. "or — nightcub." for surely they would not take her face! not that of the woman who had so spited them and tried to drive them from her womb. she wanted to cry again, but her eyes this time would not give down the tears. "tell me about shadow of the moon." again, again, as many times as her prince needed. she herself craved the sound of his voice, even though they both quavered with doubt. silvertongue would never admit how very much she depended upon crowfeather's very breath.