Hideaway Strath moonlight casted upon sinner's skin

The shadows shifted suddenly, one of their own melting from amongst their ranks. Gliding on wraith-like steps, the darkling cut across the northron's path. 

Fen drew nimbly to a halt and watched her approach, crown of coal raised haughtily as a December gaze pierced through the once-slave. Though her scarred countenance remained masked in blank neutrality, a faint shimmer of intrigue had made its way to the dagger's steel of her gaze.

"And you are?"

The corvid wasted no time on pleasantries. Even so, the dove dipped her head in a gesture of greeting -- or perhaps acquiescence -- and allowed her lips to quirk faintly at the corners. "Ehm, 'ello," the Saint-marked healer lilted, albeit a bit awkwardly in her surprise, with a hint of cheer. The curled, feathered plume of her tail gave a single wag of welcome. "I am Aerin," she added simply. Then, knowing it likely wouldn't mean much to the darkling, Aerin tacked on: "Midvife. Healer. I vas a Saint before -- in ze Canyon. I donnae believe we 'ave met." 

"Who are ye?" The former exile asked in return, though the quiet words lacked the hostility of Whrist's flint-brittle accusation. Instead, the girl of many names appeared to be genuine in her curiosity though she remained closed off and wary inwardly.