Barrow Fields i don't fly around your fire anymore

The withering words were spat, and her hackles fought to fluff up at the snarl. But she willed them down, and kept herself from approaching. Brows narrowed as her lips pressed thin, studying the Sound wolf with something akin to blasé bafflement; almost a sort of resignation to the situation she’d found herself in. ”Foraging for moss,” her tone was even and quiet, as if that explained everything.

Like the one before her, she scented the wolves of the Sound on her. Rather than flaring with fury, all that she felt was... dumbfoundedness. And then, it struck her: a month ago, before a lesson with cheka, she’d glimpsed this same harpy traipsing the claim of the beach. The scent, she’d picked it from those Drakru she tended to. But as far as why this whole war started, the porcelain female didn’t know, and hadn’t asked since. If she were being honest... she may have assimilated into Drageda, but she was Rhaesuian through and through. She couldn’t give counsel on warfare, or even seek out the knowledge of why this or that happened for the potential of it to interfere with her workings.

All she could do, and would remain to do so, would be to comfort all who were injured; give them a little heaven of a solace, no matter who they were. ”You are from... ze Sound?” Aure’s spine rounded, only a fraction, as she willed herself to stay, to relax for only a few heartbeats. Ever since sighting the dark sylph, she hadn’t truly caught the name; only knew her rank. By Drakru standards, this may make her soft and stupid, but she did want to know what drove these wolves to war. ...Maybe she should have asked why it all started.

...Oh, well.