The Sentinels is it not our place to wonder, as the sky does weep with tears
i was born to the witch boleyn
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Ooc — ebony
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#6
"dante."

the man's voice was soft; he came forth to stand beside the silver beta, eyes soft with worry at the quaking form of his daughter, whom he reached out to with a reassuring press of his muzzle. "dante is a friend, chère petite sorcière," lasher murmured into one tiny ear, turning to glance apologetically at their silvered companion.

"deirdre saw me slay the woman who would have killed her that day," the druid whispered, moving back to the beta's side. "i fear it has affected her greatly; she is plagued by all manner of fear now. it will take some time to move through; she knows you mean no ill will, and yet she does not." 

a smile to his little one. "would you like to tell dante what the flowers spoke of to you?"