Blackfeather Woods drunk and driven by a devil's hunger.

she is recognized and finding no threat, praimfaya releases the tension that instinctually makes its way to the set of her shoulders. though their times met were brief and never long enough to solidify much of anything about the other, praimfaya doesn't feel she's in danger. frostbound gaze follows hela's gesture to the skeletal remains of what was once, as hela introduces, her mother. a slight shiver slithers down her spine, easily maskable. it reminds her too much of blodreina and ingram. this, too, was all that was left of her parents.

i'm sorry. is all the scarred wanheda can offer the other woman; too easily able to sympathize though she wishes she couldn't. out of anything she could easily draw that thread of connection to she wishes it wasn't this.

i'm looking for my leaders' son. he's ...off whiteish with his bottom half looking like he was trekking thru mud and muddy markings on his face. praimfaya pulls from basic flash of memory alone ...without having spent any sort of real time with the child before his disappearance from the sawtooth spire she fails to be able to describe his facial markings in any kind of full detail.