Dragoncrest Cliffs itchuktuk

a brow arched as the boy huddled against the ground instead of speaking. fear wreathed from him; terror, even. erzulie knew that rosencrantz was fearsome, but she did not fear him, and his words were clear enough. and so she was concerned, suddenly, that something else might have smote his tongue. a sickness perhaps.
she stepped forward beneath the booming voice of the archangel, skimming the quaking body with a closer look, an intake of breath. he did not smell of illness, but she had no trust for a soundless stranger who quaked at her borders. maybe his own voice had been stolen. she peered at him, unwilling to spurn a well-formed stranger just yet, and then looked back warmly at her pale counterpart. "it is a good thing he is not a wolf of sagtannet," she chuffed, for already this one's blood would have been upon the earth.