Blackwater Islands clock of the time dragon

They softened beneath the Listener's concern, in spite of their own. A daywalker to the core, their Visala; ever the shepherd guiding her lambs, giving freely the wool to pull over their wolf's skin. Kerosene wore it uncomfortable, always crowded and itching beneath its weight — but willingly, for her. For the prophet.

Again they sighed. Your kindness warms me, Listener, Kerosene was gentle, aware of the worry behind Visala's clouded eyes as one is aware of a thorn between the toes. But I'm eager to begin my duties. We've waited long enough, haven't we? Their whole lives up to now; how could she stand the waiting?