Seaside Moors in sweet solitude of mind

softened snort pushes from black, leathery nostrils as she speaks. my mother probably thought it would help me in life. words flow from betwixt his lips as a jest. truth behind the name was much too long and too personal to give upon first meetings. little did nightingale sovereign know her bane of winter was cursed from the very moment he dawned into the world, naught but a squalling cub.

soldier. father. widow. wintersbane offers insight into his life; vague but all true. flashes of memories of relmyna ( though they were not ever truly mates ) and andraste flit across his mind’s eye; momentarily. hale tundrian allows them to drift away, skimming with nothing more than the feathersoft caress of butterfly wings.