Dragoncrest Cliffs ‘Cause I Want More

A thoughtful sound slipped his throat, looking down the ridge at the cliffs that jutted so angrily towards the sea. They matched the woman of red, Rozaleen, beautiful and dangerous all in the same breath. Were she younger, she might have illicited enamor from the Northerner, but even he could tell the difference of age between them, could see the hardness that glinted in her eye much the same as had in the eyes of the Stormskyli elders.

Her humor was dry, edged like an old sword; still sharp, still pointed. It drew a new grin from him. This one says instinct has served Rozaleen well. She is still alive. Still berjast, nei? His ears flickered, plastering against his skull as a particularly strong gust of wind interrupted their conversation. Waiting until it died away, liver colored eyes watched his new acquaintance with a quiet contemplation.

This one hopes the cliffs serve you and yours well. Megum við hittast aftur. His head dipped then, giving her a wide berth as he moved away from the cliffs, away from her cliffs. If she had no other words for him, Stjornuati would move inland once more, making his way back to the Watch.