Larksong Grotto deep down, you know that we are the same

She spoke in her own tongue—perhaps she, too, was a woman of the North. Aspa had straightened, ears pricked in the direction of the woman in black, listening intently. She knew her gods and goddesses as well. But Aspa called them by other names.

Fouler, you said? she murmured, intrigued. Then you must be from Darukaal?

A northern woman entangled in conflict, invoking the deity of death and judgment—surely she could not belong to the wild clans. Or perhaps she merely knew how to charm northerners with their own words?

Hvad laver du her? She began to circle her, gaze fixed with her clouded eye, a low chuckle playing at her lips, her steps unhurried.
Jeg møder sjældent ulve fra Darukaal... Endnu sjældnere hun-ulve. Jeg troede, Faust af Darukaal holdt dem godt skjult. A dry laugh punctuated her words, her tongue caught between yellowed fangs.