Redhawk Caldera fire in the hole

At this point in time, Clover was no brave warrior Blackthorn as she used to be. No, she was liable, lately, to be left shaking in her boots more than anything else. But she wanted to get out of her own rut. Noting the disappointment on Fiadh's face, Clover darted nearer to her. I wonder why they didn't pick him, she asked in a breath, he looks good, and little did she know, that was the problem. His good looks were a sign of his good health, though Clover and her siblings were now learning who in the scheme of things was the best pick.

She was not one to be disobedient, but her eyes stuck on that healthy buck. Maybe she and Fiadh could try their own hand another time. But for now, Clover moved after the crowd, content to linger more on the wayside than truly interact. When called upon she would act, but in the meantime she was an inactive observer, dreading participating. No, all she could really see were those terrifying eyes—and as she sniffed at the air, she swore she smelt the breath of decay. Her ears cupped uncertainly backwards, her head dipping.