The Heartwood And will dead lips to speak?

Dreven had meant her title respectfully. Or at least as much as he could be. She would be called as such, because it was the title she preferred. It was an unspoken rule.

Red eyes went inward as he thought of the paths he had taken. The heartwood and it's broken barren branches, but where life hid amongst the decay. It reminded him of home, of him. Skeletal life remained here, and hidden treasure. He liked to think of himself in a small regard as such. He wasn't treasure by any means, but he had thrived in decay, before.

I do. I will not leave without pain of death or if the damned orders it.