Lion Head Mesa Wet Hands

Eira's retreat faltered as the emissary called out once more, his words pulling her back like a tether. She turned slowly, her paw lifting to gently dab away the gathering mist in her eyes. Oh, how she had cried before, when she first met Lady Eset, and though her tender heart urged her to weep again, she summoned all the strength she could muster to hold the tears at bay.

It is called Hasdrubal, she began, though I have heard it called another name in these parts. She paused, closing her eyes briefly as she searched her memory for the right one. Niccolo, or something like it, she finally said, her brow furrowed with the effort of remembering that chaotic, long-ago evening.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him decisively. It is my sincerest intention that it will never harm another soul again, she declared, her words laden with the weight of her purpose. So please, sir, I ask you... are you able to help me, or not?