The Sentinels young as the morning; old as the sea

deirdre had been close to marcello, though did not yet know it. she stood nearby to the prey, observing them passively as they entered donnelaith. she knew of the ones with older eyes--she had seen them when she was young, and they, her. deirdre, too, welcomed them home; she thanked the Old Ones for this blessing, and the beautiful moment she bore witness to.

a howl interrupted her observations, and deirdre's slender muzzle pointed in the direction the male waited. she was on her feet in moments, drifting toward him as the rolling fog might. her movements were languid and graceful, and her long limbs carried her to him swiftly. the voluptuous youth paused before him, muzzle instinctively draping over her swanlike neck, though her posture foretold of her position in this place.

before her stood a handsome male who was coloured in many shades that she adored--for the forest wore them, too, down to his silver eyes in which the absinthe wormwood wore! they were similar in stature, for though deirdre was not large she was on the larger side of her average bearing due to her womanly figure. she was not a petite or fragile thing, but curvaceous. she, though considered, at her age, a teenager, was all woman.

greetings, the druid hailed in a soft and gentle tone that could be likened to a summer breeze, welcome to donnelaith. i am deirdre stella mayfair, málóid banríon of this forested realm, she spoke without an ounce of arrogance, though there was a proud light in her eyes--she loved this place with all of her heart, and it was all too easy to know this even for the most oblivious of beings. how may i aid you? she regarded him fully, both ears cupped in his direction to hear him.