King Elk Forest Say what’s on your mind so I get the message

"no, they haven't."

featherlight step unfolds itself from the gloom of the elk-weald, posture rigid and bailisk orbs prying as ever. rohesia's form is taut and poised, always prepared to strike something in this unholy hellsapae that was her big fat greek wedding baffling bloodkith. eadwulf, in all his blighted form, trading tongues with their -- now, now only his -- cousin. the lesser form of carling's legacy. as expected, germanicus is nowhere to be seen, while the woman has been plotting the multiple 100 dumb ways to die fellings celnes could accidently of course, succumb to.

"...you couldn't have died?" her voice does not carry the whitted edge it usually does, something with a likeness of a mother questioning her child with a soft lillit, on the lip of a tear breaking from her adoring eyes. she cants her head to the side with a sigh as a hello, but nothing more. he is white, wrong, wicked and wild as the flames as hell. trust does not come in the dove's mandiable as did the feathery friend of noah with the olive branch.