Dragoncrest Cliffs a storm with skin

Tir is loathed to disturb Heda. She knows how rare it is to find a moment's peace but, she supposed, that came with the territory of being a commander; something the pale woman didn't envy in the slightest. She knew, someday if she was very lucky, she might be called upon to join the Hedonakru for her tenacity and skill was unquestionable. Still, she could not help but doubt. Portia had confirmed not all was what it should be within Drageda. Was that a problem? She was uncertain.

But her internal conflict is soothed some when Thuringwethil agrees to her company and she strides over to the rock to join her in the little nook. There is tension in the lines of the Heda's shoulders; she is stiff, not from disuse or the chill, but something more internal. But the Shouna was no mind-reader. No, she simply observed. And as such she is quiet for a moment as she mulled over the question, wondering if she should simply launch straight into it and cut to the heart of the issue or let it lie for a little longer.

Her ears droop a bit. "Well enough," she settles on, lashing her tongue across her inky lips to wet them. They're a bit chapped from the wind. She dips her head towards Thuringwethil, but does not look up to find her eyes should they look her way. "but, as you imagine, I have... questions on the nature of things in Drageda. Things I did not feel comfortable asking the Skayona, Portia." Tirgatao speaks in a hesitant sort of cadence, fearful to draw a rise out of the Heda and threaten her newfound place among the Drageda.