Barrow Fields Such a strange haunting place

"inchr'sting, isn't it?" the bard called from atop his mound.

the komondor had laid himself over one of the mysterious sepulchers, long-legged and catlike, dreads draping over it and his lean figure. his bearded chin rested upon his paws, and - despite his long bangs hiding it - blinked languidly at the beautiful other, so endearingly spooked.

"bat tchrust me, jere is nathing tchu fear."