verbatim.

Absinth moved with lithe grace, each step purposeful as she led Flare north. The landscape around them gradually shifted, the plains, the dense woods thinning out to reveal the rugged, wild beauty of the northern territories. The air grew crisper, carrying with it the scent of pine and frost. Her pace was steady, her confidence palpable as she navigated the familiar terrain. She glanced back at him occasionally, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief and something deeper — like a wordless promise of what lay ahead. Shadows lengthened as the sun dipped lower in the sky, by the time they reached the Syndicate; it was early morning.

The border of the pack's territory was marked by bones and various mutilated carcasses; strung up or set upon pikes. Ah the creative nature of the Saxes. Absinth stopped at once such effigy, turning to face Flare with a grin that was equal parts challenge and humor. Her tail flicked playfully behind her, the charcoal tip brushing against the ground as she regarded him.

“Here we are,” The monochromatic fae announced, her voice carrying notes of excitement. “Like the decor?” Even as she spoke, steadily a gathering of midnight black birds began to converge above their heads, but the woman was at ease; one raven alighting down to her and perching upon her spine.



wormwood