Firefly Ravine contralto

he is his usual, nervous, stammering self. it brings her annoyance, but the emotion is tinged with a little joy—no. not joy; joy was reserved forever for her mother. relief? for the familiar cowardice of the singer?

Avicus nods once, then lifts her chin, observing him through a shrewd stare.

how help? she asks.

she's already trying to answer that question for herself. he is no fighter—she knows that well. perhaps a healer, or one to watch over the young, if they ever came. 

truthfully, he is of no use to her. . .but she finds she wants him around, for whatever reason.