derpfail
He could not understand why she was so familiar. Why her face reminded him of other things and her eyes were too much like a cat’s. The girl was not likened to Haku, or the dark woman he had met in the winter. She was different for a reason he could not place, as if something was wrong with her blood. Perhaps it was. Though he did not know it, Eris was comprised of nothing less then hatred. She was unwanted, like him.
From a bag she drew tools; useless ritual things that he did not need. Yet he would allow her to do what she intended, to work her magic into herbs that did not smell strongly. The black wolf settled next to his younger companion, sitting in such a way that the white mark on his chest appeared to be more. A great bird, perhaps, or a skull of a bull, something certainly more then the result of bleach or age—something magic. “Who taught y’this?” He asked lowly, admiring the skill of her thin hands.
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