Sawtooth Spire light be sinister

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The counters her thoughts with the fact that they are far from their own kind; theirs as she has taken Kjalarr to mean one of the northern tribes wayward sons. He says the words she is familiar with, feels them in his own breast and she could smile at that but she feels that many, if not most, are beneath her and her efforts. "They cannot be born vikings but they also cannot simply bend - that is not what we do." She explains simply. It is not a legacy that she would claim, to fill her ranks with those lesser beings. "Fodder cannot be accepted. Either the spark is there or it is not." Eshe felt that in her bones, she knew it to be true. What Salene and not seen in her own son Antares was that spark, but he had proven himself through his merit. 

Most would not see the world so black and white but Eshe had not been the sort to thrive in the grey. Things are simple, in her eyes, there is, or there is not. She was pretentious, and she was haughty, and she knew these traits and claimed them. "You were born to these lands, then." Eshe makes the educated guess based on the way he has spoken of the wilds as he called them. He was still a mystery, and she could pick apart the way he felt or the conviction of his eyes but another rumble of thunder steals her attention for a moment. "And how are you planning to carve your legacy?"  There was a lilt of curiosity to her and she wondered what the male was wanting. She did not expect a pack of worthy creatures to just stumble into her view but she knows - at least in this male - there is potential. 

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