Blackwater Islands i must yes i do need

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No sooner did the final sibilant notes of her volta fade against the confines of the grotto did the sound of applause reach her ear. Believing she had been alone, the inky woman was delighted with this turn of events — the chanteuse had never been one to shy away from a performance stage. She could recognize that voice, bright and beautiful, and with a sweep of her shoulders, Indie spun on her feathered heels and saw that her audience was composed of one: Salish. 

A nod and a chuckle was returned to Salish in thanks, and a simper diffused across her licorice lips. ”Aye,” the woman affirmed. ”I used to perform for my family of old,” she had quite fond memories of her time as Donovan’s little starlet, using the dexterity of her tongue not only for the mummers’ amusement, but for their subterfuge.  ”I hope to do so for the Νηρηίδες as well.  Indie could not help but slip a touch of Salish’s own argot into her speech, quite proud of the elasticity of her mind and wishing to impress the tawny girl further. Indie then quieted, looking at the sand-dusted shewolf and entertaining felicitous thoughts of singing a duet with her.

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