Cedar Sweep like carillon bells, the house of Augustus rings

She was a searcher.

There were great many of those in this world. Seekers of death, of love, of peace, of war. Gunmetal grey sought out the spring green of the woman’s eyes, as though Passerine could determine what she searched for by that alone.

Not that it mattered much. Idle curiosity aside, there were no teeth in her throat, so she truly did not care. The woman, Solveig as she had said, could be among the cedars searching for dancers for a dance troup. Passerine amused herself with the thought, her mouth running on autopilot.

Jericho. Easy enough to use, she had been living as Jericho for far longer than she had as Passerine.