In the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.n the quiet of the night they moved forth, silent and slinking, towards the place that would never, could never be their home. Spindle matched her mother’s stride, a smaller, ganglier version of the feral creature that had birthed her. The blackness breathed against her gnarled hide, tousling the young curls that traced the length of her neck. She stared into the hollows of the Concealed Cavern, her eyes curious, but not afraid. She could not sense her mother’s second thoughts about venturing here, and so she has no reason to fear the black figure that emerges from the lion’s den.
Her sire moves like the shadows, cold and unearthly. Spindle finds herself trapped within the hollows of his eyes, and for a mere instant she feels her death tug at her feathery legs. She is released from his hold when his eyes flick to her mother, but his gaze pulls her with it. The warmth of her mother’s skin recovers the curiosity in her young eyes, and she stares in wonder, like a child playing with black fire.
“Hello, beautiful.” His words slip from a forked tongue. “Who is this?” He questions and his eyes flick to the child that stands beside Aven. Spindle makes no attempt at answering. Here, she may not even know who she is, a creature of pure blackness and feral instinct. S T Í G R
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