| She is, perhaps, starting to lose some of her patience with Vespera. She comes upon the scene with a short-tempered scowl and a hidden cough, deep bags beneath her eyes from the lack of sleep, and even so, she can sense something god-like about this strange gopher and the fading beam of light. “Clearly it’s not meant to be killed.” She mutters as she observes the Ilati’s attempts to put the creature out of its misery -- but her attention is on the golden stranger, her pale eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She says nothing, however. Instead, she steps forward and casts one bedraggled wing over the poor creature, giving it something of a blanket to help calm it and perhaps protect it from the chill hanging in the air. Her mind strains, trying to remember the melody her father had always sung to her, when she had been hurt or afraid, and it is with a rush of soft nostalgia that she remembers. “When the night is cold, and you feel like no one knows, what it's like to be the only one buried in this hole, you can make it to the sunrise,” She croons softly, uncaring of who else might hear her -- this is a frightened creature, and her instinct is to soothe. |
she wasn't looking for a knight,
she was looking for a sword.
she was looking for a sword.
