The Sentinels a voice from down the ages, so in haunting in its song

he was correct in his supposing, though they would never know of it. his words had been vibrations to she and emaleth, but their mother shared with them pictures of the words. deirdre herself watched them avidly when feeling compelled to; but for the most part, the witch was quiet and unresponsive, preferring to linger against the back of her sister. deirdre could not turn her cheek to the visions she conjured—through him—of donnelaith, nor to her mothers own individual dreams and visions of the family there already were to meet. but these things were difficult for deirdre to grasp. she preferred what she had within here. the constant Other, the warmth, the food.

she preferred it all to change itself, but then, not to what she was coming to love.

still, at the moment she prepared to forswear all things to go back! this was no gift to her, but a strange, dizzying horror! her stomach churned as she moved her heavy head too quickly, the beginnings of motion sickness gripping her... but then there was a black shroud that stopped all things terrible, and deirdre herself seemed to stall in her judgments as she sucked in an anxious breath.

when things stilled, her heartbeat slowed. deirdre hiccuped and was at peace again; there was no longing to go back to what had just happened. it was monumentally confusing to the small babe, and she was none-the-wiser that this darkness was the doing of the man she would love for all time. deirdre was hopeful that the thing that had happened was not meant, and that all was put to rights by her frightful cry. deirdre did not think herself ready for this, and whatever else was to come. her heart was ill-prepared.