Northstar Vale Wandering Child

 

"Prophecy,"
the word made moniker; one that brings a gentled humor to the stricken's hewn mouth; as if such had spun the female from the skies of this very eve and had spoken vessel through the silvered mantle of this wanderer. Again again again she reminisces of her own duet with the wandering cherub; of such words as fate and of gods and the nonbelief of either. Perhaps in time, then, this she-wolf would coin a new calling and cast off the old; or not, for she knew well what lie within such an endeavor; a sacrificial thing. But, now—

"I am Undómiel of this realm,"  she lent, then, thinking it evident now to finally state her station 'ere,  "and ze carving of your mind is entirely your own. Yet ... perhaps in these hinters you will find ze solace from all that has swept you from where-ever you once came."  With this, the fée rose; invited this oracle made flesh to her pallid side; and sought to indulge in each sliver of information that the Court's newest saw fit to bestow upon her readied ears.