Barrow Fields swiggity swooty

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She’d kept by their brood while the shitstorm’d gone down, gaze inscrutable and steeled, jaw set. When Verx returned and given them words of leave-taking, the silver had only nodded, curtly turned from him, and began to gather up Isilmë... if there was anything that could contain her.  (Nothing could.)  So, short to say, just as the father guarded their son from her, she too would eye from their daughter’s side — not that Isi would even want to be near at this point.

As of now, she was anything but a distracted dam; like she’d leave their children in this forsaken place — how could she have ever trusted him in all their living here? ...But if she could sway Isilmë with the prospect of ’being with daddy again’, then perhaps that’d be just enough to get her to at least follow.

The herbalist in her wanted to tend to her warrior’s wounds; the nurturer in her wanted to comfort and listen to her children; and yet, they all were exhausted in many ways, and the supposed mother was sure neither wanted her near.

So the end, Aure herself followed regardless, hung towards the rear; figure stiffened with silence, brow drawn, even as Dragomir began his tirade. There was nothing good that she could say to make up for what she’d done on her part, anyways — and she was tired of arguing.

But if they wanted her words, then so be it. Other than that... to hell with Rusalka.