The Tangle cling to his chest, home to his heart full of pride

prophet.  his name strikes her.  it suited him.  the pale marking on his face looked ceremonial to her now.  the word that followed she did not know, but she understood through his explanation.

she was not much of a fighter.  but she admired them.  she often wished to carry the brute force a man his size might have.  then, she might have had to compromise less of herself to protect those she loved.

it is good to meet you, prophet.  her eyes are drawn against her will to the grey streak across his nose, before she remembered her manners.  what brings you out here?  surely, there must have been somewhere more welcoming he could've spent his time.