Herbalists' Cache the gunslinger watched as the world moved on

A hushed, throaty gasp rose from her before her head flickered up; left her overwhelmed lungs with a stumble. For a moment, she stared blearily, unseeing anything other than a gloaming figure. A few trembling blinks, and the one before her sharpened into a dusky, pantheric mold; hackles ruffled and undoubtedly from Drageda’s once-claim.

Her encounter with Caphias since had not changed her particular perception of the Sound wolves. Like with the night-laureled wight, she regarded the Rusalkan male before her unassumingly, oddly refined for her tearful state. There was nothing more that Aure would wont for than to help others—everyone except herself. By a habit that’d become nearly instinctual, her eyes fluttered over the boy’s frame, in search of things raw and red.

So, because of this factor, she bit her lip in salt and sorrow before atoning, ”I... am sorry.” The meaning, unless given explanation, was entirely ambiguous. But should he take a moment to listen to the strain tugging at her foreign chords, or notice the way she was looking at him—so repentant and ignorant of war—the harpy’s faun might be able to piece it together himself.