Falls of the Hinterlands seeker

ione watched the girl, studied the way she tensed and postured, how she wielded boldness like a blade to mask uncertainty. a child of the dark, yet not of it. not yet.

the morass is my haven, she answered, voice smooth as still water. it keeps what belongs to it.

her gaze, heavy and knowing, did not waver. but you do not yet belong to anything, do you?

a flicker of something—curiosity? amusement?—passed through her silver eyes.

tell me, shadow-child. what is it you are running from?