Porcupine Ridge the abyss leers in hissing ruts

Starbright eyes;
​as a cloyed sibyl might, Undómiel tosses them out amongst the smattering of said birches without much thought or care for the hand that has since come to be dealt; how it has worn her! wearied her! wilted her! and yet she refuses herself the prolonged privilege of withering amongst them;
so it is to these quilled spires Andraste has come, under the pretenses of seeking nourishment for those dwelling and younger. Praying godless that greater game would be had thereafter the season.

Yet it is a seasalt scent that instills within her thus: ever-impish, unbidden;
features nigh impassive, save for a refined melding of warmth that has all but dispered from her. The significance lies therein the inconspicuous, curling corners of shorn lips; for Erzulie had been faltering in her thanksgiving, when last her arms had been full of the roseling. The fée might have let the parting of her lips issue some semblance of sound, of telling—
but her voice has gone to dust and she does not trust herself in speaking. Mouth quiets, and retreats into as soft a smile as ever for the corsair's sake.

Her anguishing had no settlement here;
and so it would not be.