Blackfeather Woods the gull’s way and the whale’s way

Mother could rot in hell for all Nyx cared, but she'd make sure none would suffer because of her hatred for the innocent. She had done enough damage, and it looked like the mute had been starving rather than being questioned (for how could she be?). The blue-eyed stranger had been not more but a prize, set upon a closet to never be looked at again. Nyx would dust that prize off and let the gold she was sure it held melt by the sun so it could be used again sometime.

At the edge of the meadow did both of them halt and Nyx looked behind to look at the shadow-like, bloodied captive. The scent of blood was not one to turn her stomach, nor was it particularly one she craved. We better stay far from the spores - I have not heard much good from the wolves who had dared to walk near that willow. She informed with a slight yet strangely sweet smile. It was then that she removed herself from the very edge of the meadow, aiming for where she knew was the border. She expected the sheepdog to do the same. Make sure you wash our scent off of you as soon as you can - we are not wanted by many. At least you cannot speak of all you have seen here. She advised as she cleared a way through the underbrush for them. Get to a healer for your wounds - try to scavenge or even hunt. Go somewhere far, far away from here. These were obvious points, but she felt like she had to show at least some concern for the other's future.