Herbalists' Cache the gunslinger watched as the world moved on

In return, she was given a withering stare from the younger, and even then her gaze did not leave his own. A slight crease molded itself at her brow, not so much at taking offense at the wrath of his phrasing, but more in the way of wondering. Wondering how to... to come some on mutual understanding, one that ascended his hate or her hardship.

Would that she could, she would tell him of her eccentric arrival upon Drageda; tell him how her arrival had been in the midst of a war; tell him how she had nigh to none seasoning in fending and fighting. But she knew that wouldn’t work here—she never liked to speak of herself too much, anyways. ”From what I have heard, ze Sound was meant to be claimed by Drageda,” she acquiesced, leveling her stricken gaze to the depths of the one before her.

Her voice remained hushed, for both of their sakes, as she continued, ”But your nōrē should have ze freedom to settle where they long to. I...” she faltered, drifting in thought for a moment, and looked to him then, brow deepening with uncomprehension, ”I don’t understand why some parley could not have been stricken. A treaty of some sort.”

And then her eyes sharpened, but not with the hate she beheld in his. ”Forgive me if my plight for understanding this damned war has aroused some loathing within you.” In that moment, she became passionate, strained—almost embittered with herself, rather than him because she couldn’t understand. ”That was ze least of my intentions, I assure you,” but her breath came flustered, and her expression sharpened further. ”Your Rusalka and my Drakru hold another in ze utmost  animosity, do you not? I have no knowledge of how tidings such as these are conducted along ze sea, but in my eyes, we are all blameless.”

And her tearful eyes, indeed, bored into the corne’s own, suddenly flaring so bright they simmered cold. Within them wasn’t fury, or the animosity she’d spoken of. It was confoundment—the most fervent child of confusion.