Stone Circle returning

These days, Merrit seldom found himself within Easthollow. Any sense of security had been sprited away the day Leta had fallen. Sweet Leta was alive, of course - and he clung to this - but so was her assailant. Somewhere out there, the siren still prowled. By night, she found her way into his dreams, and by day, he caught visions of her in the hours of the sun. She had twisted the familiar comforts of home into something he did not recognize, and nothing he did could return them to what they had been before.

He came upon the borders from beyond Easthollow; too bound to his family to leave them, he always stayed nearby. From a distance and behind he did not recognize the stranger. She, at least, stirred no memories of that day, but this did not mark her a friend. No, she remained a foreign entity, a danger, and Merrit covered the ground between them with a stride that rolled of power. He knew he rivalled his father in size; one of the many gifts Stark had left him, but this was one he did not fight against. "I am Merrit," his quiet voice ran soft, and flat, and his steady gaze rested on her - stoic, with the dark circles around his eyes the only sign of his troubles. "What is your business with Easthollow."