The Sentinels but i know that i'm damned

She licked her teeth to clean the splinters of bark and wood from them, though the earthy taste of it was an odd comfort. Her den marked— well enough, for now— she pulled away to see the white woman approaching. Aria seemed warmer now than she had on Emaleth's initial return, and the dark youth returned the smile, though she did not trust it. And yet the steward of Donnelaith must know the statement that she had made by placing her den here, at the forest's heart— that this was her place. That she was the heart, just as much as Deirdre was.

"No, thank you," she responded politely, for her work had been done. There was magick in making one's den, besides, and the dark witch had no desire to see the power of her sleeping-place diluted. Better for Deirdre to help, if she needed any.

"What is on your heart?" Emaleth asked, after a long moment of silence. She loathed pointless conversation, and so opted to be direct, though it was truly up to Aria how far she wished to take the question. Would she chose the surface, or deeper waters?