Ravensblood Forest In The Shadow of the Mountains

Ah, so she was good-humored enough to play along with his leading statement. She was even so charming as to flash the haggard fellow a smile. Once, Smokestep would have found such actions delightful. He would have quickly fallen into a smitten trope, as young men often did with confident women in their midst. For the pirate, having someone who was so willing to step into his stories was nice. He’d only had his sister for the last while, and her sense of humor had long since faded away. She did nothing but protect him. The pallid beast could not fault her for that, but there were pieces of her that he could recall – humor, wit, a sharp tongue that would lash at anyone – and he did not know how these pieces had vanished.
 
“Ye haven’t heard, eh? Ye ain’t safe anywhere here, lass. The keeper of the trench dwells in the sea and sends her servants to collect souls for her on land,” the haggard creature answered her in his raspy voice. She did not need to know that he was one of those servants; the most prized out of all of the trench keeper’s drudges. It was in this moment that the supposed hazing seemed to take a far more somber tone. The scoundrel’s mismatched gaze latched onto the sights of the woman across from him. His dark lips curled upward into a smile that did not seem to suit his features. Smokestep did not need to wonder if she believed him or not. He knew his word to be valid. In time, perhaps she would too.