The Sentinels shipwrecked

There was something in the way that she softened – the way her voice seemed to echo a distant memory that she could not quite place – that caused his crooked smirk to fall. She knew nothing of her own family. She needed to know from a stranger about the people she was supposed to be closest with. Smokestep’s mismatched gaze searched her features, forcing himself to swallow the pity that had found a way to lodge within his throat. “Aye,” he agreed with a small nod. He would share all that he could about the strange fairy woman who had stolen his father’s cold heart. How peculiar it was that something so pure and good had found a way into the soul of a dark monster. The two had made it work well, despite their differences.
 
“She was a right beaut. Tall – legs fer days, if ye know wot I mean – with these eyes that look like the forest in summer. She’s as kind as she is pretty, o’ course. Said she was a witch, too, but yer lot seems to be fond o’ losin’ memory ‘cause she didn’t remember much ‘bout where she came from,” he explained to her with a small shrug. Of course, as a young boy, he had not been entirely interested in the woman’s tales or the peculiar antics that had warped her life. Smokestep was a brash young thing, but even he knew that Deirdre Mayfair was a light in a very dark place.
 
“Ringin’ any bells?”