Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

It was terrible in itself; still, was the blame to be placed upon her slurred words, or the remnants of slumber that made her eyes numb and lips dumb? Either way:
"No. It wounds me to say that ze birthstongue I was raised with is rather pristine. I would have called you rat face, nyarro anta ... which hardly sounds insulting."  Now was a rare moment, where the fairylight's features whorled in a voiceless message of  See? It is infuriating  even as the tundrian continues to redub himself beneath her proferred suggestion. Wryly,  "Give me ze rest of this moon to remember it,"
before he finishes with a surname that she, in her histories, does not think she has ever heard before. Then again, she had not stayed with her own blood and would-be claim, so removed that they had all become of another; and how, in turn, she had repeated such.

But Andraste does not wish to think of  next time, I will be better  or, heartrendingly, who would be the begetter. Not this moon. Not when this unearthed gem of Cúivenen was meant only for easement  —  not for the past upset that had too early occurred. Why had such a happening not crafted her into some spiteful serpent?

Why did her soul remain ever-softened, for all her sorrowing?

Unsteadily, blearily, she rises; her own brow furrowing as she wonders how, percisely, she might join the fiendish warlord. A snowshoe paw wavers in the air, stilled by her mind's mustering to meet again with her movements; but her riddled lips press thin, unsettled. The fée turns the tapestry of her spine to the waters, then, and gingerly begins to retreat Wi- Melkor's way; the foot of one hind flickering catlike at the warmth of said water;
soon, though, she eased, and now appeared very diligent  (perhaps to the point where it was unnecessary)  in bringing the rest of herself into the currents;
asking aloud and more herself than him, with chords pitched in drowsy mistrust,  "Is this all right?"