Blackwater Islands is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?

the woman's response is biting: but ingram keeps the urge to bare his teeth locked away. he is the keeper and arguably highest ranked below only the listener herself. but she is an acolyte, he tells himself: likely, she does not know. is not yet privy to the inner workings of the blackwater druids. her stinging words are met with his go-to stony silence; seaglass gaze hard but impassive. though the urge to return with snark of his own is strong, he too lets that pass him by.

it would do no good.

that is what all newcomers to blackwater are titled as, ingram explains; as if that offers in simple and uncomplicated terms that she was, indeed, an acolyte. whether or not she thought so about herself doesn't matter to him. to him, this is stark black and white with no grey to expand between the two. thus, you are.

a pause is given. if you'd rather be addressed by your name, that is fine. but he does not know it and would not be giving his own; at least not his personal name. i am the keeper. he offers her. do you need assistance? he tries again to offer his help, this time favoring clarity.