Ghost had awoken in the pitch black of night.

Old Crow was asleep, or at least he appeared to be. His feathers were matted and missing in places. His breathing ragged and uneven.

Ghost had never felt better. Whatever sickness was overtaking Old Crow was steadily weakening the bond and he and Ghost had.

A single star shot across the night sky.

Ghost smiled at this.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 26, Old Crow, Pentel