Deepwood Weald i love to watch the castles burn, these golden ashes turn to dirt

Though he knew she was right, he hoped for some than just stragglers. It was a gamble to take leftovers, relatively speaking, not knowing whether their intentions were as forward as their word. Yet he knew without ponder he would question the integrity every morsel, every cut and quarter. Likening it to food was not too far off the truth but he did not comment on her observation; she sought to placate and soothe him where he did not need it, or so he thought.

"I have more than a couple actually," he answered, crossing through a gap between narrowed trees grown close. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere, waiting for her moment to make an appearance if she so desires," and as if he knew for sure, he said it so Nyx would hear it. It was quieter tones as he glanced back to Ceara he concluded: "Certainly payback for all the times I've come to eavesdrop on her over the seasons. Sure she's seen a good show or two. Or faux pas." Sometimes both, he would wager.

The pair continued talking, until the edge of the weald came along, and then concluded with their farewells.