Ocean's Breath Plateau little w[o/a]rri[e/o]r

deirdre possessed not a hateful bone in her body, and when constructed it seemed patience was one of her primary ingredients. for she listened to the handsome, smaller cairn before her and as the words came, she translated them. she would not press him! 

the hint of his voice, what it might be, lingered in the rich, honey and molasses lacquered mm. it was deep, and its timbre reached her and reverberated within her with clarity. the witches eyes fell to him, again, and her ears pressed forward in the slightest, not at all translating to the premise of aggression but keen interest. his plume had waved, and she withdrew to give him space and room to breathe both. she had been helpless to invade it, but full of good intent. i want to help, she expressed. deirdre could empathize, having lost so very much.

the man then brushed the underside of her muzzle gently, and deirdre knew already that she bore this wolf no ill will and would only seek to aid him. it was then he sought to speak again, and deirdre listened raptly. he suffered as he stammered through what it was he wished to say, but she was picking up the pieces, pushing them together, interpreting them! she was a linguist, and so to tear the word apart, to morph it, was something that she was more than proficient at. 

he seemed deeply ashamed, and deirdre again reached gently for him. skellige, she tried, her voice gentle. your brother. i understood, perhaps only because she knew the elder cairn did she understand, but that thought did not even occur to her. you seek him?