Nothing, except— There, between a snarl of thorns. A patch of darkness. It did not move, did not seem to do anything but linger. And watch. Familiar and yet foreign. Something in her power whispered not to touch it, not to go near it. Even from this distance. Mor obeyed. But she still watched that darkness in the thorns, as if a shadow had fallen asleep amongst them. Not like Azriel’s shadows, twining and whispering. Something different. Something that stared back, watching her in turn. Best left undisturbed. Especially with the promise of a crackling fire and glass of wine at home.
