Cassiopeia's View Granny, does your dog bite?

A counselor Ransem was not. His interest in the trivial pursuings of Herod's life were minimal. He actually rather enjoyed leaving the preacher's life to his imagination. The goldcoin eyes having been witnessed to the many masks the preacher man wore. The golden mirrors reflected the man's true face more often than not. Especially when hushed tones of conspiracy ebbed into the elder man's voice.

Ransem's face remained neutral at the revelation. Secret messages? To whom, indeed. Snowbird, after all, had no one to return to. Yes, yes. Ransem remembered her boy.

The boy was a frail thing. It is a shame birds handle illness poorly.

A cruel hunger crept into his gaze. Tattered remains of his ears cupped towards Herod.

The mountainside is no place to retreat from one's troubled thoughts. Ransem agreed readily. Your focus needs to be on your surroundings, much can happen in the blink of an eye. It's a shame she does not have her own safety in mind. You are few, in number after all. Especially if I'm the only one you can spare to guide her.