Cassiopeia's View Granny, does your dog bite?

Herod’s eyes flicked up at Ransem with a smile that didn’t quite reach them. Ransem, he greeted, voice rich and smooth like well-aged whiskey.

The older man leaned back comfortably, releasing a low chuckle, though there was no real warmth behind it. Not exactly, I’m afraid.

He didn’t elaborate on the boy’s trouble—the defiance, the outbursts, the punishment that had momentarily beaten the wildness out of him. He didn’t need to. Ransem wasn’t there for his domestic troubles, and Hasdrubal had been subdued for now.

After a moment, Herod's grin faded. I’m not sure if you knew, but Eira… He paused, letting her name hang in the air, gauging Ransem’s reaction before continuing. She sent a message to someone. Now, who could that be, I wonder?

Leaning forward, Herod adopted the mien of a man poised to lay bare some terrible truth, as if placing his elbows upon some grand, invisible oaken desk. His eyes narrowed. I worry about her, Ransem. She hasn't been quite right in the head since the unfortunate death of that boy of hers. You remember, do you not? Such sorrow can twist even the strongest mind. He shook his head slowly, his voice a lament, as though mourning the inevitable decay of something once beautiful. And now, she is giving me ultimatums and sending secret messages in the dead of night. Who knows what troubled thoughts linger behind those dark eyes of hers? Herod's nails drummed against the stone.

I must ask you, my friend, to keep a close eye on her. She is alone far too often, wandering the mountains for her little plants. You know as well as I do how dangerous those paths can be—how easily one might lose their footing, slip into a ravine, or fall into one of those icy lakes. Accidents happen all the time, and it would be such a shame if something were to happen to our little bird now, would it not?