Hideaway Strath you were never meant to be a tragedy

Once more the blanchard was swept up in the healer's tales: of his mystery drinks brewed in warmed waters and worms that twinkled like stars. They were fantastical, the mythical realms of the druids where the lands were always rich with summer and filled with game. "Vhat a land ye must 'ail from fer such things to be commonplace," the combat medic murmured, tones faintly colored with stupefaction. She placed the sweetly scented flowers he'd gifted upon her on top of his skull contraptions after he'd lowered them to the ground, slipping out of their travois to travel with ease. They left their belongings in a secure location, Aerin falling in beside Vein as he set off for the caves.

And then when a particular phrase registered, spring-faceted moonstones turned to seek yellow tourmaline -- her ivory diadem tilting back and up to find his gaze. "I am not bored," the nymph of frost reassured with a gentle smile. In her next step, Aerin attempted to bump her shoulder against his as they walked along in a gesture of spontaneous affection, but soon found that she was so short in comparison to the giant shaman that she had to hop up a bit just to bump against his side. 

A soft chuckle escaped under breath as she settled back into her former leisurely pace beside Vein, a touch of embarrassment tinting her laughter for her miscalculation. 

When his words turned to nostalgic memories and loss, the chuckle died in her throat -- her wan features sombering and softening simultaneously. "I'm sorry fer yer loss, it sounds like ye vere very close to 'er. She taught ye to 'eal, yes?" It was only an assumption, based on his story. 

"I know yer pain, friend. My mother vas a slave to a pair of two-legs -- as 'er own mother vas an' many mothers before 'er," the girl admitted -- remembering a time when she had but one name. Amaltéa, which her dam had pressed to her brow on ruined vocal chords. "Zey vere my first Masters an' eventually I vas separated from my mother as my siblings 'ad been, as most slaves are." 

Thoughts of the two-legs and their senselessly cruel ways fled her mind when the abyss of the cave's maw yawned to life before her -- the hellish void of a monster's jaws. Subconsciously, she shifted into Vein's shadow, auds pinning to her skull as she eyed the cave entrance with a vague expression of dread and haunted eyes.