Otter Creek she was poetry in a world

hela supplies that each would have a different answer and offers that she is injured and he offers her a place to heal. praimfaya's lips tug into a pensive line; terse. frostbound gaze studies hela and then glimpses beyond her to the rising sunspire as she contemplates the warlord's further words. interesting. interesting, praimfaya repeats. you are the second i know that has joined them, third if you count donovan. i sparred with him once, genuinely liked him for the most part; and a second time when he intercepted a fight between nemisis and me. praimfaya supplies gesturing to her newest collection of scars. i heard she is gone.

her frostbound gaze returns to hela. i have not been shy about my displeasure of the saints' presence in the sunspire, praimfaya admits with an unapologetic and lofty shrug. i am territorial by nature. she offers in explanation. after a few seconds she breaks her silence once more, i... have my doubts about sagtannet and the capabilities of it's leadership. it was truth enough; she was annoyed at wylla for dismissing the woman that had saved her life and she was worried about mahler's priorities. interesting how? she asks, her curiosity genuine enough.