Whitewater Gorge we have no evidence it wasn't

She’d been about to leave the argent entirely and without further word; every bit of her burned with sullen, miserable mortification, for herbs had not been all that she’d demonstrated today, much less to a stranger.
And yet, it wasn’t as if she'd never shown such vulnerability to those she’d only just become acquainted with in the past. But now, she— she would need to be more careful, yes. More cautious, to not let her damnable tenderness  (so prone to push all from her)  push through the permafrost, now.

But then he asked for her name, she thinks, and the silver only halted in place; svelte spine turned to the Volga-born. It seemed she wouldn’t answer for the longest time, until she wisped, surrendering with a despondent breath, “Aurëwen.”

And as the herbalist made a skulking departure, she prayed that this Kalganov wouldn’t ever grace the riverlands.
Pray he finds a more forgiving mentor.

Never her.

last from me. feel free to archive?