Wheeling Gull Isle vanyan sòlda

mireille's shoulders tensed as caracal went on, but by the end of it, she had allowed the tautness out once more.
"all women be too good for men," she said with a sniff, standing fluidly. mireille meant it, but the little curve at the edge of her mouth suggested that maybe caracal was not included in that number.
"i could eat," she said at last in a quieter voice, something like fight racing from her figure until she was only a tired girl, smeared with exhaustion and with feet aching a thousand ways. "heda be good, to let us stay."
and that was all she wished to utter on it.