Ravensblood Forest The white owl in the belfry sits.

Whether her answer was satisfactory or not, Stryx didn't really care. She didn't notice any discomfort in Raleska either, as she was busy cleaning herself. The disquiet was broken with a question that veered the conversation in a new direction and the physician's ears slanted, her jaw setting momentarily with tension.

It was a long story. One she did not want to delve too deeply in to; it wasn't a good story, one with a valiant protagonist and an easily vilified opposing force. She shrugged her silver shoulders, turning to regard Raleska with a guarded expression on her face.

Various places, but mostly with a harem of spinsters. To say she sounded bitter was an understatement. There was bitterness there, but also a chill, as if the frigidity of her tone might warn the new mother away from prying further. By no fault of her own Raleska had touched upon a storied history that Stryx kept nicely tucked away from the world. Always had an affinity for it.