Phoenix Maplewood the healing of nations

a sorrowful beast indeed. simply looking upon him gave her cause to worry, not for her own safety mind you, but rather for his health. she did not care for him, this stranger. but he was a brooding, afflicted thing. something to be used. his answer is vague but it catches in her ears, and she turns to survey this so-called graveyard with a touch more sympathy. no longer does hosannah scour through the dirt for things unseen — his admission leads her to believe that only the dead of her own kind lay here, and such things were not proper items for any menu. when he questions her, her ears shift and then she turns to look upon him again.

life, she murmurs first, and sighs the tiny, all-encompassing word.

obviously this pursuit would not end well for her, so she must give up. perhaps further - further, and further still. she would walk the many avenues of the world in need of her own survival. but he is here, and he is alive, this wretched man; perhaps the shadow holds a secret? so the flame dances towards him, slipping closer, but not so close that he could lash out easily upon her. hosannah is protected by her lord, but she will not tempt the darkness of this man any more than she must.

if death is all i will find here, where do you lay your head at night? spirits make poor bedfellows, sir shadow. she cants her head, quirking it slightly like an owl would when faced with a mouse. he is hardly a target to her, being larger, stronger, and all manner of corrupted - but he knew things of this place. and perhaps she could appeal to whatever good nature was left among the murk of his sadness.