The Sentinels shipwrecked

Only the tips of her fangs had grazed his throat, but he still felt the wrath behind them and it was astounding to him that she could feel such a way. Then, she moved to allow space to stretch between them. Smokestep did not make an effort to move forward again. He did lax his position some, already prepared for the worst of what she had to offer. It was then that she offered him a moniker to use. The nickname that she used was one that he was familiar with, though not in depth. He had heard the tale of the goddess of war from travelers that he had crossed paths with on his journey back to the Teekon Wilds. They had been a strange lot – close to the earth and fantastical in their beliefs. Smokestep had not thought much on their tales, but he had shared a few of his own and passed by them without so much as another word.
 
“Goddess o’ War, eh? Yer a sharp lass, but ye don’t look much like a crow o’ death to me,” he remarked with a small smirk and a chuckle that barely found way past his lips. It was not until she shared her true name that he took a more serious role in their conversation. Emaleth Mayfair, he though to himself and frowned swiftly at the raven-coated girl. “Do ye know Deirdre?” he asked her in a soft voice. The two colors of his eyes searched her face for a long moment, expectantly.