The shroud had yet to extend to the province of Dunmeath. The ruins of the province's capitol proved a substantial base for their various operations in tandem with protection from the rays of illumination. The remnants of the city was coming alive with the coming of dusk. The thin threads of the sun's fingers lowering beyond the mountain ranges like wisps of broken spider webs drifting in the breeze had become the signal for work to begin. It was a mixture of differing recoveries. Taking those mortals still within hiding to the farms of Anderstel, while wolves were dug up and put to the axe, further more the restoration of the buildings' integrity to make the place habitual once more in the preparation for citizens to move in. The reigns of control were still being debated, a consultation of the queen's advisors and vassals no doubt squabbling over their chances to prove their merit.

It could prove quite the difficult task to remain in authority of the fort. It had little natural defenses, its main threat to their forces being that of the sun and the brute strength and ferocity of its protectors. Let alone it's position and the scale of both armies vying for its real estate. His attention drifted from the marked war map, darting in time with the scurrying form that had snared his attention. Predatory senses based upon the faintest of movements had instinctually honed in on the motion, of the petite figure crouching lowly to the earth as if it sought to hide.

Another refugee, perhaps? Though it was uncommon to find them scouring for the remnants of supplies alone. Let alone caught out by the moon when they knew their newly appointed overlords to be the most active. Perhaps it was simply a thrall, seeking to escape the confines of their new owner, a concept he wasn't entirely found of and yet the society which dominated and thrived had clarion disregard for the treatment of such specimens. The book of reports he had idly been scanning for sign of any counter attack audibly snapped closed with the brief pressure of his finger tips, being placed upon the table next to the clearly detailed markings of the surrounding area.

Descending the stairs, he was quick to follow the path he had seen the presumed stowaway take, eager to return them before their disappearance was noted and a punishment could rile. After all, many of those present could be quite.... volatile. Much to his dismay. Tense nerves made the inflammation all the more noticeable - all the more flammable. "Where have you gone?" He spoke aloud, coming to a halt in the center of where he had last seen the fleeing figure. "I'll be cross if you make me search for you." Blunt. Dismissive. Truthful.

 
The sound of their heart was that of crashing rain upon tin. So thinly spaced and out of time that it seemed almost like a constant drumming within his ears. A beacon of rampant noise he could easily follow, far better than the scattering of their tracks within the loose churn of the dirt. Ground destroyed by the flames of war. A civilization reduced to ruins only to be rebuilt to begin anew, as something else, as a means to fit another dream that differed greatly from the prior owner. The same fantasies that no doubt harbored within the desperately fluttering wings of the mortal whos direction his stare had slowly drifted towards albeit the rest of his countenance and frame remained wholly still.

One.

The mental count begun, and he wondered how long they would remain pressed into the crevice of the fallen in home. One that the memoir of its destruction no longer touched his thoughts. It seemed such a short time ago that he aided in leading the assault, and yet the falling of each and every new age ruin escaped his grasp. In time without the restoration efforts, ivy and vegetation would reclaim the crumbling city. It would sink into the depths of history and be forgotten. One day, perhaps he would discover it again as if it were new, and if he did: would he remember this moment? Was this something that would be impressed within the clay? Something worthy? He held his doubts.

Two.

Another frightened, malleable survivor. Trapped in a world they even helped to create. Their minds just as feeble as their bodies. Seeking refuge in the arms and shields of base and lesser heathens. Deplorable instinct for survival what inevitably lead to the creation of their own downfall. The fear of death. The fear of being without power, perhaps as well. A root of evil that still ran deeply through the heart of those who had long abandoned the threads of their mortal coil. Those like the queen herself. An imitation of the woman she once was that still haunted the halls of her father's mansion before his killing. When he was trapped in a sewer and skewered like pestilent vermin. What was it that had so suddenly seemed to spur her onward if not that?

The very same that bid what came to be a girl to remove herself from the shadow of the collapsed structure. He continued to watch her from his peripherals until she came before him, her frame still carefully crumbling in on itself. As if she sought to be as small as the pebbles that piled next to her - remnants of a section of road. Her eyes did not dart to him in all of their ceaseless movement, nor did the turbulent staccato of her pulse slow or calm. "Stand up straight. Look at me when you speak." He advised, knowing not should she have in her possession some manner of concealed dagger clutched within the hands he could not see. It would not be the first attempt of such a thing, even children knew myth and tale enough to formulate such action. All animals were mad when driven into a corner when their survival became challenged. Just the same as the head of the Kaplan's.

"Where have you come from, and where is your owner?"

Jahi - imagine the eyes are silver pls until i get home to change them uwu