Wheeling Gull Isle You're facing down a dark hall

maybe beauty is a warning.
heda's ears flicked to note that tybault, who had hurried to catch up the small distance, also spoke of fire. she was not personally familiar with it, though she tried to recall childhood stories of such events.
the man ended on a bitter note of self-deprecation. he asked after her birth and heda thought of mahler, of rivenwood. "i was born in a forest far from here," the advisor answered at last. a hand of wind caught at her red nape. 
but back to tybault, who she studied at last when she looked back toward the assumed strain on his handsome face. "is fire why you're here?" her voice was soft, holding her mentor's training. bartholomew allowed those to come to him but he knew how to ask.
and heda was learning.