The Sentinels i would die for her, i would kill for her; either way, what bliss

deirdre kept her mouth closed tightly together, not wanting to betray her feathered friend; it had been him who had spoken of it, but he had taught her nothing of its ways, only that it was a dark and terrible thing that required much of the wolf performing it. a shred of their soul, some of their heart, a bit of the dead, and something that yet lived. this was what her darkening heart had told her to do, the direction she had been led in. astray.

as he entered the burning water, deirdre let out a little shriek, her fear for him stronger than her anger. but as he came out of it unscathed and unmarked, deirdre felt the anger return as his tone scalded her. his question asked was rewarded with the earnest shake of her head, i don't!, because deirdre still learned. what were the limits? what could she do with the alchemy she yet knew? ah, but the flowers were dead! to hear that the bones were not emaleth's was a sweet relief, but she felt sick, sick that she might have pushed that upon emaleth, sick that her father might think of her as lowly as she felt of herself. the babe was stiff and quiet, and so she hoarsely croaked, i want to help find her, but did not look at him, so ashamed was she.