The Sentinels to rest in gardens and wake in crypts

deirdre simply listened to the comforting words of her would-be mentor, though the processing of them was truly slow. part of it was that she did not wish to accept things as they stood, and the other part of it was attributed to her simple exhaustion on the matter. to look forward was something she wished to do, but it was difficult--felt like behaving as though all was well when in fact, lasher was gone, how could anything be well, was wrong. but she understood on some level that such a thing was not wrong, but necessary. the birds still sang, lamenting with the cub, and the beat of the insects wing was still to be heard.

deirdre felt her father, then, in a gentle wind. it was a coaxing little touch, and the xi responded to it, and lucani's eloquent words, with a frail sigh. might we try and find some flowers? she looked away from lucani, willing the subject to change for a time; her wound was open, and yet... i want to look forward. she would have it heal.