Sequoia Coast born into cruelty and crooked form

His head raised, as though to suggest an ah moment. It was unfortunate, but he did not pity her. Death awaited all of them whether they flirted with it or not; it was merely another journey they would all embark on at one point or another. It would come for her as it would come for him.

“Nei,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not died. You live.” Crude, but the heritage, her birthright, it still lived on. His tongue snaked out to lick at his dry lips before it washed over his nose. He knew it wasn’t enough to convey what he intended and the struggle to find the right words left him silent. Stjornuati would have been better suited for this, better able to recall and speak a tongue that Solpallur did not favor.

“This one… he knows…” he trailed, searching. “This one knows the Eyjólfur can learn? Yes. Learn.” His features went stern, continuing. “The Eyjólfur learn only if want. Must want, not force.” Yet given the displeasure she expressed, he could not have ventured a guess as to whether or not she would want to.

Perhaps she made her own heritage, now.

He certainly did.