The Sentinels better to reign in hell

Her eyes glinted from betwixt the shadowy trunks of the sequoia that guarded her home; little Emaleth was as a wood nymph, always in the protection of shade, watching the world in a curious silence. When she separated from Deirdre, it was her father that was her favored target. She wanted to know what he knew, and loathed to leave his side— but she sensed that he needed his own space, and did her best to give it to him. Emaleth was yet too naive to realize he likely knew of her constant, watchful gaze... but she had never strayed near enough to catch his words, and often left for her own devices when he had company.

But this was different. She could see the quake in his body, and though she moved to draw near to him, a white form was nearer and quicker. Still, the young Mayfair rushed toward her beloved father, gaze cold as it swept over the stranger, but softening with concern as she looked upon he that was her world. "Father?" she queried, voice shaking despite her determination that it remain steady and strong.