Nocturne Summit this little piggy went to the liquor store

yes, he agrees. sha, praimfaya echoes solemnly beneath her breath as she regards the ripa anew. their laughter, his joining in with her's, echoes strangely around the stone walls of the summit; pealing back like the whispering amusement of creatures of the arcane that otherwise go unheard. praimfaya sways upon her feet, as if lulled into a ghost of a pirouette to some music only she can hear. the gentle hum of voices ...of the spirits of the commanders rising in her head. only, it is not a hum but commands. the spirits of her people, her birthright call out to her; reaching in warning. they remain muted, muffled. the throes of the high keep her hazy, strip her of her guard.

the muscle of her left shoulder, the flesh that bears the kill marks twitches. trying to remind her of what it cost her, of what it cost them so she could ascend as heda. it is a burden. praimfaya speaks grimly, as if rationality has returned to her. it is brief. the hazy descends upon her again and she goes into a secondary fit of giggles. did this reaper have a home, she wonders? where do you call home, ripa? she asks, trying to summon her dignity and failing as she plops unceremoniously upon her haunches.