Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them

[Gale]

i hear the wicked get no rest, but when you do ---------- i hope you dream of me The brindle stallion leaps after her, and by the time his hind hooves strike the wet earth of the jungle to propel him forward, they are the paws of an enormous wolf. A winged wolf, and he doesn’t pause to consider the implications of this shape coming to him so first, and so easily. He pursues her for some time, venturing far from the more populous areas of Tephra. The air overhead feels heavier as they pass into the thickest forest, where magician-fed trees tower impossibly tall, and he can leap across and can duck beneath the thick roots as he races after her. Always he is just behind, nipping at her heels, slashing at her belly. Never enough to hobble her, just enough to coat his tongue with blood, to sweeten the way her fear and panic slide down his throat. Gale intends to run her down, and to pull the rainbow from her bones when she finally collapses. The world narrows until there is only the thunder of her hooves and the wet slap of greenery and taste of blood. There is no room in his head for anything but the single-minded focus of the hunt, and Gale looses an eerie howl, one that summons (the illusion of) a half-dozen other wolves racing through the jungle beside them, all of them with wide thirsty mouths and eyes bluer than summer skies. GALE

@Sintra