The Sentinels moving in reverse with no way out

The sylph rose on willowed limbs and Indie’s eye trailed downwards, over the woman’s coal covered chest to her dusted stomach, then back up again; but soon her attention was captured by a story, enraptured with the woman’s words. It was hard to believe what was happening — it was the story of the forest! It was something Indie had given up hope on ever knowing, figuring all those knew of it had perished in the inferno. But here it was, manifested in the who pale one who sat her opposite.

Donnelaith, was it? The vaudevillian could not help but taste the words on her quicksilver tongue. ”Donnelaith,” she drawled in a smokey pitch, eyes flashing. The word was thick, like honey, and was almost sweeter than the appellation Nereides. There was a man names Taltos, a daughter, someone else… but this was not nearly enough detail to satiate her voracious curiosity! The vaudevillian wondered about the relationships and culture of these woods, of who resided in the words — not their names! She wanted pretty words to describe all those twists and moments that made this world unique. Perhaps this was too much to ask of her companion — who was she to assume that the stranger held every answer? Perhaps Indie had been given an inch, and she wanted to take a mile. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Before she pried too much, there was one thing she had to know. ”What’s your relation?” she asked, head bobbing to one side and inkfeathered ears tipping just the same.