Greatwater Lake the touch is cold

Choice. It was an interesting word, a word which called upon flashes of memories which flitted unwittingly across her mind, shaded in melancholic greys and angry reds. A pair of blue eyes, a toothy grin, pain flaring out on her flank, streaks of red, silver and matted brown...high-pitched whining and the biting cut of the northern wind - in any case...it didn't really matter anymore. "No," Saarthal exhaled softly, "no, not by choice but..." she trailed off and smiled wryly, "nevermind, it's not an interesting story." No, not interesting at all.

Opalia offered brief explanations...searching for someone...vague descriptions. Saarthal listened quietly. "I'm really sorry, I haven't seen anyone like that," she said, apologetic. "But, you should-" she stopped, suddenly embarrassed, teeth wearing into her bottom lip, "forgive me if I'm stepping out of line but...you should...allow yourself time to grieve." Hey, good advice Saarthal. Why don't you follow it? Oh, shut up.