As you bore your eyes into hers you feel the glyph of Return tugging you back to a cliff overlooking the camp grounds, you let the glyph run its cours... and teleport to the rocky overhead. At your return the Feeders rocket off towards the campgrounds, fifty pale figures fly overhead the gusts of air tossing your hair. Black streaks paint the sky, shrieks echoing into the night, the Feeding has begun. The Feedlings fly low, and lethal, bombarding the ground below with glyphs of Hate, crackling. He shakes his head. “This is fairly recent, Ms. Calvalli—”“Mrs.,” I correct him. People carry this politically correct stuff too far, I have to live with it in court but I’m Hugo’s wife and my name comes from him and I’d prefer the proper honorific.“Mrs. Calvalli, then,” he says. “But the fur is new, comparatively speaking. Contemporaneous. I have no idea what it is, but I’m no fur expert. I can tell you with certainty, though, that there’s no possible way this could have anything to do with my. More

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