Moonspear neresā

A gentled Mming at the queen’s condemning, hollow-eyed;
there was precious, too precious time for her traitorous heart to stumble to its knees before the hewn forgery of her tongue. Too little to be had for her shorn spine to arc angular. No, she would no more make the lady lune-loper to fathom her any more than she herself would deign to hiss at those barbed, frigid words. No, no — it would be better for her to be unthinkable as mother, if confrontation were to be had. Might as well let it be the assumption of cowardice to them than attempt to dissuade these preachings:

“She who tore into his throat is a harpy named Caiaphas. Pale with a pitch crown. Ze giant who went for her, and ze boy who ended Vercingetorix, sought to end Dragomir ... I do not know their names. Only that they are dark, that their eyes are emberous, and they smell of rot. Last I sighted them, ze witch and ze giant were ripping ze limbs from another.”

As for the quip of attending the lake, the commencement of Hydra’s snarl, the subject of their allegiance to the Nightwalkers—
( O, she had she not fought for them, however foolishly of herself? )
—not yet. Not here. So she only gave a birdlike cant of her rubied brow, thusly unruffled, but affirmative of the queen’s orders and the lord’s thoughts given voice. Whatever wrath within her went aslumber still. It would not awaken for the glint of an apparent allies’ unveiled threat and fang. And perhaps it would remain so, until— 

“Her voice bites. Ze boy’s ... lurks,”  no doubt it might remain within the head of Dragomir,  “and ze Nightwalker’s ... he did not seem to take interest in ze hunt of my— your children. He set himself wholly on Caiaphas.”  And with this, she began to crescent herself away.

Impassivity writ in the gentled desolation upon the ruined features; a madness, perhaps, only fashioned further by the sword in the sky and the forger responsible for her previous tending.