Blackbeak Bluff The night wages on

Moon-sighted.  What an ever-accurate depiction of the recluse.  She sighed at the moniker: was it in jest or appreciation that he dubbed her?  Her doubt is assuaged (only somewhat) by his admiration of his native tongue.

His confusion pleases her in a way she cannot define, and she toys with it for a moment, avoiding the answer he seeks. Neither.  Both.  Each were true in their own right.  Her gaze fixes upon him once more, predatory, as she divulges her innermost secret — if need be, he can be one of the many she will never see again.  I have visions.  I dreamt of the Teekons, I was embodied in them before I was present.  

She draws a breath, running her tongue across her lips.  I was drawn to this shore but I feel our encounter was fated.