Hideaway Strath giza

For all that she hated the dead things that he carried, she had seen so many innocent things felled purposefully, the once-druid didn't have it in her heart to be unkind -- even to Ramesses. Her lips thinned into a thin line of blush, her diadem of hoarfrost dipping once in a jerky nod of mere confirmation. "Thank ye," she managed, though it felt she had to grit the words out, her tongue wishing to remain fixed in silence -- a protest of the fallen Prince's company and silent derision.  "But I am just Aerin." She would not have any of this 'divine one' nonsense, nor would she entertain the notion of keeping a slave in any form or fashion. 

The Priestess would rather destroy her enemies than stoop to needless violence and mindless cruelty.

"'ow 'as ze scraping been treating ye?" The feathered wisp asked him, with only the faintest twist of a smirk marring the smile she allowed to crawl across her lips like a spider on its webbing. "I take it ye mean to stay if'n ye 'ave dug a den fer yerself." Her preference regarding such a notion -- whether he stayed or went -- was carefully concealed in the light tone of her dulcets.