Seaside Moors magritte suit

"sout'east of us be de firebirds. a large pack. dey are not allies, but dey are not enemies. niamh, wid a golden coat; she leads dem, an' she is de one i know best." as far as friends; erzulie rolled her shoulders and peered sidelong at miranda with an inscrutable look. "rusalka be keepin' to itself since de beginning." no masters. no allies. they lived upon the salt and would die beside it, of this she was sure.
having yet no idea of the kingslend wolves settling within the hinterlands, she had provided the sum of her knowledge. lowering her lips to sweep the dust, tasting it for the spoor of rabbit and the promise of the deer that strayed down to feed, the harlot felt herself shift toward lighter things. "hunt wid us?" and this time she did motion toward @Grímnismál, eyes shining with the notion of it.