Silver Moraine Sitting here in the afternoon,

Ilse follows the river to the north of the bypass, up and around some other mountain. It is the cold dew of morning that drives her to seek shelter and the blood that drives her to the cave. Something troubled wanted to be found here.  She approached the main hall and stopped neatly before its entrance.

She was not the first one to appear at the altar, though it was the smell of sickness that would be first to greet her. Next, a rough-tongued voice. The fur at her nape stands on end as the absolutely fucked vibes of this place settled nicely in her stomach. She turned quickly to flee but cast a glance over her shoulder and it is then she sees him — it is there she finds trouble.

Fleeting familiarity gives her pause where recognition fails to take hold. She knew someone like him once, though the memory is just as distant and shadow-straddled as those of the unknown brother across the room.

She would be seen if she had not been already. She must address this, or she must run — now.