if you throw me to the wolves
"All of it. I want every record of sickness." Delah says in a voice that sounds like leaves rolling across a dry branch. Even in this place, the Undercroft where many of their most valuable secrets are kept, Delah does not speak the common tongue. She uses instead the language of the Fae, of the trees and the earth. Her words are like tangible things, her orders absolute.
Immediately one of the curators is escorted out by a number of Delah's soldiers and the war chief is left simply to wait.
Crossing her arms and turning to survey those within, Delah's eyes alight upon a figure that she does not know well. Hazel. Those with physical limitations such as those that the younger fae have are one of the main reasons that Delah has remained as determined and militaristic in her thinking; to keep safe those who cannot fight for themselves. It is why she awakes each morning, why she stays awake into the wee hours of the night. They can call her a tyrant, a predator, hostile, but at the end of the day, her family—all of them—are safe.
"Reading anything interesting?" Delah asks dryly, wings folded tightly behind her back. Though for all of her predatory prowess, today her moss-green eyes are kind, her youthful face almost soft as she peers at Hazel.
Immediately one of the curators is escorted out by a number of Delah's soldiers and the war chief is left simply to wait.
Crossing her arms and turning to survey those within, Delah's eyes alight upon a figure that she does not know well. Hazel. Those with physical limitations such as those that the younger fae have are one of the main reasons that Delah has remained as determined and militaristic in her thinking; to keep safe those who cannot fight for themselves. It is why she awakes each morning, why she stays awake into the wee hours of the night. They can call her a tyrant, a predator, hostile, but at the end of the day, her family—all of them—are safe.
"Reading anything interesting?" Delah asks dryly, wings folded tightly behind her back. Though for all of her predatory prowess, today her moss-green eyes are kind, her youthful face almost soft as she peers at Hazel.
i'll come back leading the pack
