Delah
The stones we cut, the songs we made
Delah can feel Nephele's presence in her mind like a ghost as the clock strikes midnight. The botanist has one of the most clever minds that the warchief has ever encountered, and something in her stiffens and is bolstered by her mere presence here.
Nor I. Delah repeats, her voice like the peeling of bark beneath sun-dappled trees as she speaks the language known only to the fae.
Turning her sharp mossy gaze back towards Edrei, the warchief raises a brow. "I know that your magic can never compare to the power of the woods." She counters with the ease of authority. Her lips quirk into a smile that is as deadly as it is beautiful, her green eyes ringing with predatory gold for just a moment at Nephele's comment. In other worlds and societies suggesting that one piss on something valuable (the woods), might be taken as a slight. But it is as Nephele has said, the urine would water the infected plants if nothing else, and so Delah merely grins darkly.
Nor I. Delah repeats, her voice like the peeling of bark beneath sun-dappled trees as she speaks the language known only to the fae.
Turning her sharp mossy gaze back towards Edrei, the warchief raises a brow. "I know that your magic can never compare to the power of the woods." She counters with the ease of authority. Her lips quirk into a smile that is as deadly as it is beautiful, her green eyes ringing with predatory gold for just a moment at Nephele's comment. In other worlds and societies suggesting that one piss on something valuable (the woods), might be taken as a slight. But it is as Nephele has said, the urine would water the infected plants if nothing else, and so Delah merely grins darkly.
