The Porcupine and the Snakes

The sun seems to be trapped in the narrow streets of this strange settlement beneath the Spire, and even in the shadows the heat still lingers. It is aridity the tiny Natural is unused to, drawing the moisture from her supple skin until it takes on a glossy shine and the salty drops invade her bright blue eyes. As she walks among them, the strange, oversized barrier-folk, her youthful face moves a little too slowly, as if she is taking in the surroundings more than anyone else. And she grins. She is clad in fine leather, today without mail, and braids rise like thin peaks above her damp, glittering hairline, before plunging like plaited rope behind, until halfway down her back. The weaponry once wielded is abandoned, though a bulging bag slung around one shoulder suggests migrant. There is a neatness about her, orderliness, or maybe it’s the sureness of her stride; the girl (woman?) is moving with determination, though it is startlingly obvious that she does not belong here, on Hollowed Ground. With long, glass-like wings folded tightly behind, the Fae glides forth towards someone, anyone (she is not fussy), and asks with honeyed words, “I’m looking for a place to stay, please.”