[h3]Deia[/h3]

[hr]

[indent]Deia moved to the belongings, guided by intuition to reach in for what she knew was hers. A small bag of various items, and tied to its fastening string, a sharpened ritual dagger. Runes carved into the blade, darkened and darkened with blood that stained the etchings. Crows feathers hung from the handle. She pressed her finger to the tip of the blade, letting the sharp kiss thrill her. A delicate shiver trembled beneath her skin; a long slumbering thing stirred. The chill the followed was colder and not welcome. Not hers.

She drew closer to Verena's side; closer than reason demanded. Her body now a shadowed shield between this woman and the dark beyond that rang out with the threatening bone-deep thrum of possession. Deia's gaze roamed, slipping through the firelit gloom with the patience of a hunting cat. Something had changed, the air around them had grown teeth. A pulse, not of sound, but of knowing brushed against her thoughts. She inhaled slowly through her nose, drawing breath as a priestess may draw power. She felt it hollow through her chest like the stilling of a storm about to break.

When she let her thoughts unfurl beyond flesh and beyond bone, against the thin membrane of aether, she felt it. Life. Not seen, but [i]there[/i]. Stirring like insects beneath a rotting log, watching. Her lips curled and she released a thin laugh, dry and sharp as crow-bone. "We are not alone," she murmured in a voice threaded with a dangerous delight.

In a single, practiced motion she reversed her grip. The blade now faced outward, hungry, and waiting to carve a warning into the flesh of whatever skulked behind the veil.[/indent]