Dragoncrest Cliffs we are still trained killers

though saint is grateful for the half eaten fish the man brings her, her stomach roils a bit at it as she sniffs at it. she remembered the one woman's warning: to eat it slow and she does not think that will be much of an issue. she takes a small bite and sloe-eyed looks between the two women.

tongue coated in sand and tasting the dirt on the scales as she takes another small bite of the meal she has to force herself to swallow it.

safe.

not a word she'd really known since sweetharbor so many moons ago now.

s-saint. am called saint.