The Sentinels “hope” is the thing with feathers

there was magick here, velen knew, and it was with reverence he approached the ruins of donnelaith. even so, the ash-fallen weald did not give up its secrets so easily — he came to breathe in the energies here, to patrol for the wretched spider that had dared to make her putrid home in lasher's final resting place. protectiveness rose in him at the sight of the sentinels, and at the presence of a lovely, earthen-hued stranger therein.
the mayfair-cairn slunk forward, shoulders rolling. velen lacked ford's massive, haunting build, but skellige's blood had made him impressive enough. ears swept forward, chestnut gaze resting impassively on the newcomer; a low chuff rolled from the boy, and he was silent then.