Dragoncrest Cliffs deity of scars

When she seemed to relent, even if it was just an inch, Svalinn felt a modicum of relief. He knew that his ability to remain undisturbed in the sound would rely heavily on his relationship with the wolves on the cliff. Sapphique was not Rusalka, for better or worse, and it would do him well not to end up on anyone’s bad side around here.

When Jorunn’s howl had died away, he bobbed his head in wordless gratitude. In the silence that followed, he seemed to want to speak, but hesitated, perhaps concerned by what she might say. Has there been any more casualties since the attack? he asked, forcing it out.

Mainly he wondered after Wing, who had not been quite out of the woods before his departure that day. Surely Val was okay, since Jorunn did not immediately inform him of his death when he’d mentioned him as family, but he dared not ask specifics.

Soon after, they were joined by a scarlet naiad, who was not familiar to him except for the carving of her expression. She reminded him of the dead corsair, whose name he wanted desperately in this moment not to recall. Thinking of her dredged up memories of the heartbreaking sounds she had made over her deceased loved one, followed by images of her disfigured body and of what he imagined Raleska had looked like the day she died.

It was enough to make him wish that he had not been here to witness such tragedy.

She didn’t address him, so he did not speak, but the sunbearer looked down at the dead rabbit between Jorunn’s paws, which seemed the safest place to look. At least it couldn’t stare daggers back at him.