Lion Head Mesa ordinatio

a sombre look to germanicus shifted violently to something doe-eyed, stricken.
he's gone?
no, he wouldn't—!
he said—!
there was pressure building in her throat as if an invisible force vice-gripped there, but she choked out some words, her features brandishing a measure of concern.
that fool, her words were steeped in a great and sisterly love, though the rest of her was a touch unhinged. he said there were plans to send a spy to the saints; he came to ask me about herbs, things to hide his scent -- he said he would not go!
she began to pace, wheeling about.
go! you must go and find him. maybe i am wrong —
but maybe i am right, and he is dead!