Dragoncrest Cliffs that's how i get mine, that's how i get it

Every single shudder of this heartbeat she knew so well mattered. Counted, with the ticks of his trip-hammer pulse. And when she was obstructed from her patient — when Rose tore her from her submersion of intent and of what-to-dos — shouldered her back back back from noapte — made to reason with her in the cruelest of ways —

The ivory skin shivered thin as parchment, so that all those scars as a bairn embellished themselves like the finest of ruby-inked calligraphy upon a once-lovely facade. ”Opkepa,” Bounkola went as white as cold wax, her mouth a quivery, marred cut beneath a glaring pink nose. And her eyes... ”You get ze ever-loving hell away from my mate.”

Vercingetorix would never call her his mate, his wife, his moon-and-stars. It’d been instilled in her from the moment she cradled him, sick with fever, and he had turned from her. It had been held to her aching heart as the name of Dragomir became the only only only in her dimming world of every every every. But she loved him; and even that in itself was an understatement.

She loved him with every breath he took. And his breaths were the most precious sound.

She was the blood of Rhaesuial — of the far and uncharted and blistering, unforgiving North, the true North. Her Nordlys. Heiress, healer; healer, heiress. And she unfurled towards Rose in all sense of the latter, rising to her fragile, petite height; her voice a heavy, strained lowing:

“I did not drown in those waters only to lose this male in them. I did not drown in those waters to birth fatherless children. I did not drown in those waters so my opkepa tells me that ze love of my life is dead. I stayed when ze raid on ze cliffs happened; I stayed when my hunter sought to end me; and I will stay in this. His blood may stain the soil, but I will be everything I may to ensure that another drop is not lost in vain. Now, opkepa, do your duty—“ The heiress lingered close, eyes wrathful and ruinous and silver, ”—and get me my goddamned properties.”

And though her gesture of move aside was naught but a gentle nudge of her shoulder to Rose’s own, she crescented right back over Verx, warbling, pressurizing, ”We will have to operate on him here, and then move him if any more kru decide to show up. I need marigold; webs, for dressing; leaves; moss — anything that can staunch this, be put into a poultice. Go!”