Raven's Watch water up the nose

Stjornuati appeared, his presence comforting in the sense now that if this truly were a trap, he would at least have his brother to aid him. But as the pair closed in, no one revealed themselves. There were no snarls to greet the brothers, only the gentle clatter of the worn bone on the ground; it was a hollow sound, the crows only having offered her a morsel out of pity from some scavenged prize frittered away wherever it was that they enjoyed leaving things.

He heard the uncomfortable hunger churn too; she had been alone for some time.

Despite their uncultivated nature, they were not generally cruel beings. Perhaps like the ravens, there was a pit of pity that grew within, but it was not all-consuming like that of a black hole. For Solpallur, pity was a concept relatively not understood, but he would not punish a child needlessly. Stjornuati must have felt similarity, for the words he spoke prompted the darker of the duo to respond in their archaic tongue.

“Hún var að veiða,” he informed him, “illa.” His nose worked to test the air again, drawing up what he could of her scent with it. There was little to ascertain from it all. “Forfeður hennar hafa brugðist henni.” No minders, no parents, not even an irresponsible sitter to impart a thing to her. She seemed scrawny, even.

“Where is home, sá litli?”

Did she know?