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

she need not ask what he spoke of. her heart broke to hear of it, and think of what had transpired. yes, she whispered, agreeable but saddened that they were gone when they had only just arrived to her. i loved them, my friends. but at least the trees live. and they are still beautiful, a gentle wind tousled her furs, and she looked at a locust that rested upon the wood of one. her heart burst at the sight of the trees kindness, and as a cruel thought came to her and she turned her cheek, she noted tree sap emerging from the wood where she had cast her angry glare. the thing would be fossilized by the syrupy substance, would never move again. she could not find pity or misery at the thought, but she was a child, and her grasp of things that were petty and conniving were lost upon her. still, deirdre looked away; in her heart of hearts she might have wished for this, but once mindful, she was aware that she would not do so a second time.

lasher spoke next of a mentor. she was quiet as she remarked, there is a wise old owl here, that talks to me some-times. she thought of the flowery scarf he had made her, and she wondered if that had survived this, hidden away as it was. she did not think to go to it then; she feared to do such a thing, feared to invite the locusts to dessert. and then he spoke of caiaphas, a high priestess! is she a witch...? she whispered, and then she looked to him. what do you know, athair?