Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

He spoke of an endless rainstorm, which reminded Haunt of her early childhood. It had rained for weeks during her second month. She hadn't minded it, though the sun had come out in the end anyway. She supposed that would happen now, though Haunt could only have blind faith in nature and Njord's word. She was only six months old, so there was no drawing on experience, no practical knowledge of how the seasons turned, inevitable.

That hadn't even occurred to her. Haunt supposed she was deeply fortunate in lots of ways. She probably owed Sapphique her life, including Kaertok. She frowned. No, she owed him nothing. Maybe they were even now. That was a contemplation for later. Right now, she could admit to herself that she was indebted to the rest of Sapphique, particularly its leadership.

"It is..." she said. "My head feels okay. I hit it, a while ago now, and I've had... issues, ever since." That was a huge oversimplification. But her dreams had begun following her injury, then they'd turned into full-blown waking visions. What did it mean, now that Artemis was gone and her head felt more or less normal? Had she been sick in the head this whole time? And was she well now?

She didn't really want to dwell on that right now. Instead, Haunt queried, "Could you tell me about this place? This pack, I mean? You called it... Sapphique?"