Boartusk Heights Barn owl

Not even a month ago, Vincent would have blew a raspberry his sister's way as she turned to face him. But now he was older, more mature and so he simply appraised her with a self-assured smirk as she stared back at him with what he knew was concealed but simmering contempt. "I 'unno," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. An anti-climatic end to the charade of a long-winded search for his sister.

One dark ear twisted as the golden-furred woman then murmured to his sister, catching her offer with a frown. "That..." he scoffed, turning to fix her in his gaze. "...won't be necessary, Sirviente." The word fell from his mouth as if it disgusted him to even say it.

He glanced to the other who remained a silent, watchful statue; a prime example of a sentinel, though Vincent wished he could tell what he was thinking beneath his stony expression. He looked back to the girl and women, staring pointedly at Nymphora in challenge.

"I think the dear Princesa can attend to La Matriarca's summons herself."