Barrow Fields i need not one thing more

the woman confirmed once more that mona wore his eyes — as had the family she had left behind, as had constantine. and now the girl knew it to be truly real, that she wore the gaze of some unseen spirit. but from this woman who had once known lasher, mona found clarity in the claim. 
mona realized that the she-wolf's answers had unfurled with grudging slowness — she offered more than clipped words now, and the girl gleaned images from them. so lasher had been a mystery of sorts to the shoreline countess. the girl watched her elder for a somber moment, noting the strength beneath what many might see as a sinewy, sharp-edged body. the plane of the woman's cheekbones came beneath her gaze next — but mona shyly snatched it away, not wanting to stare. curious, curious; she recalled what finley had said.
"how ... how often did he come to the sea?" mona inquired gently, beating with a newly budded curiosity but not wishing to sunder their perilous connection.