Shimmering Sands "it's calm before the storm, winslow."

lionel lapped blood off his muzzle. "isn't that real burned?" he asked, trying to remember what deirdre had said of it. she'd said a lot, he remembered; his mother was full of mystic knowledge and stories he wasn't quite sure were true or not. skellige's logic burning the fairy-ring edges of their dam's imagination.
"worth a look though, right," he grunted. even if they didn't stay, it would be a worthwhile landmark he supposed. "shall we go there now?" or would they linger here, fixing scraps from this kill for another few dinners.