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[h1][u][b]Blood's Jewels[/b][/u][/h1]
[h2][u][i]“Terreille in Trouble”[/i][/u][/h2]
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In the kitchen Denar considered the odd looking man. He was one of the long lived races with those gold eyes, meaning that his actual age would be in question. If anything, Denar would guess him to be young, not quite in his prime yet but a fighter none the less. As a protected and escort of a Healer he would be. Though despite the fact he was supposed to be on guard duty the Eyrien warrior relaxed slightly as Vaclav ate. Though he was dubious of pancakes for breakfast, preferring sausage or any real meat in general. Steak would be wonderful, yet he was nor brave enough to step into the pantry and risk Gen's wrath if, and when, he was found out. Swirling the coffee a bit as the Warlord questioned about the old woman, who was currently sitting in the palor trying to knit under Denar's gaze when he wasn't paying close attention to the Warlord, Denar hesitated slightly before answering.

"The simple terms is the fact that Mother needs a Healer around often. She was not as old as you would think, but the loss of her two friends- relatives of the Healer here- was hard on her and our father was harder when they were together." He rustled his wings slightly in agitation of the mention of the bastard. "It aged her and not for the better. So, Faeril did what she could but there are limits." The man shrugged not looking like he was going to go into more detail than that. It wasn't his secret to share after all and he wasn't sure about trusting these strangers [i]that[/i] much yet.

Belar tucked his wings tightly to allow Artemis to pass. While he didn't like it, he knew better than to interfere with Healers. It was the quickest way to find yourself missing pieces, or that was what Faeril had always threatened. Relieved that Gen at least was sleeping in and getting some much needed rest, he leaned agianst the stone of the door frame. The eyrie itself resembled a series of caverns that had been shaped to rooms. Stepping into the room to allow the Queen and other Healer by he narrowed his eyes at the stranger his friend had been helping. While he knew it was common for Faeril to over do it, he couldn't help the protective instincts of the Warlord Prince that he was. "[i]Lady[/i] Fatima." Belar corrected with a firmness to his voice when Mikhail addressed the Queen. He wasn't really one to care, but the last thing they needed when Faeril woke up was a explosion of the Black Widow giving someone the dressing down. Though considering the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince... That might just happen anyways. Somewhere in the eyrie a clock striked ten in the morn.