Dragoncrest Cliffs intricate cities built from the slag of a bulldozed anatomy

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Eske offers Heda a nod: she has seen others tending to the borders. She only brings it up because she does not want Thuringwethil to think she has been idle. She is Gona and she takes her duties seriously. At first change she’d clawed her way out of the den as if she was a blind woman seeing light for the first time and hadn’t stepped so much as a toe back in since. She prefers to sleep out in the open unless unfavorable weather drives her to seek shelter. Eske turns her sea-glass colored gaze to the splintered trunk, studying the jagged and sharp splinters that stick up from the what part of the trunk remains in the ground. She thinks that if one were to fall on one of those deadly splinters that they would be impaled like a deer’s antler through the flesh but her attention is drawn from that to Heda as she older woman asks her if she could imagine what a fallen tree could do to a wolf. Indeed, Eske can. “Crush them to death. If they’re lucky they would die instantly…if they’re not I imagine it would be a slow, extremely painful death.” Eske observes with a terse tug of her lips. Thuringwethil told her of a Seageda wolf that had been struck and a small shiver runs down Eske’s spine. “What happened to them?” Eske cannot help but ask, though she suspects that either way Heda intends to tell her.

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