Deepwood Weald over men’s noses as they lie asleep

Her mouth spreads wide in a grin. Yes, she answers the girl's unspoken question. It is. Pray that it is what we all hope for. Nyx most of all, probably. There is always a possibility that the sickness is an anomaly, or that the seed does not take, so Megara does not praise the gods quite yet. But for now, it seems promising.

The woman lifts her chin, surveying Nyx with no lack of warmth in her face. Walk with me, dear, she coaxes, beginning to pad along a well-worn forest trail and holding her pace back until her companion catches up. She is used to leaving others behind with a quick pace (though she is slower now than she used to be, for sure).

Tell me about yourself, Nyx, Megara says, smiling over at the girl. With those eyes, those silver spangles, it is clear she is no Melonii—or worse, that she is some corrupted version. So she must be from another family. From what stock does her dear nephew's consort come?