Blackfeather Woods phoenix; you can't touch her without burning

There is a moment between them in which she can imagine her pelt decorating the entrance of Wolfskull alongside the others, bright wildfire pelage glimmering in the low sunlight.  She holds her breath, trying to still her beating heart.  He does not move.  Instead, he speaks.

"I will not harm you."  His voice is metered and devoid of emotion.  His presence is commanding.  "You shouldn't be here.  How did this happen?"

She doesn't trust him, but she wants to.  There is something about him that reminds her of Llewellyn, of royalty and chivalry.  But he is Blackfeather, and everyone that resides here is the enemy.

She goes to speak and her words dissolve in her throat.  She can remember the stranger's rotting lips enclosed around her larynx, and she wonders that if the evil magick that is working in Blackfeather has stolen her voice alongside her freedom.

Slowly she shakes her head, unable to meet his gaze as she's filled with shame.  She can't tell him.  She can't tell anyone.  Anything.  She takes an apologetic step towards him and smells at the air, though if she's looking for something she doesn't find it.