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[color=6E8E67]Location:[/color] In a bubble, a top a cliff, by the Eyrie[/center][hr][hr]


There was no doubt in anyone's mind who saw the Queen that she was absolutely livid.  Her body trembled with rage and unspent energy as she turned and watched the pair of Eyriens grow closer.  Xandar was holding Faeril and the woman bawled like a cat.  Fatima did not listen to her words, her mind was elsewhere.  Turned inward as she traipsed along the edges of her power, pulling strings and readying to fight her way to freedom.  The bubble finally stopped moving and Fatima stood, blood dripping down her face and staining her tunic.  She watched the pair quibble with each other and Fatima found it quite childish after what she had just seen below.  The death of her man.  Someone was dead and here they were just... 

Her lips thinned into a small line when Xandar spoke his condolences.  Her eyes narrowed but still, she said not a word.  Fatima wore nothing but cold contempt in her features for the man.  She just watched him.  Nothing to be done now.  His apology, while perhaps true, rung as an extra slap to her face.  If he were to feel sorry for the man's death, he would have let her go to him.  

No.  

This and that were not the same, she had to remind herself.  He acted in her best interest, it just didn't happen to coincide with her intentions.

Faeril's hand upon her arm, telling her to hush had Fatima turning and finally making a noise - something of which she was repeatedly being accused.  Could the woman read her thoughts?  They way she howled in her mind? And in her heart?  Her teeth were bared and she snarled at the Eyrien woman.  [color=6E8E67]"You make the most noise of the two of us,"[/color] was her bitter remark.  She pulled her arm from her grasp and, when having a moment to calm herself, looked the woman over.  She was in desperate need of healing.  Fatima sighed and ran a blood-encrusted hand through her wild, curling locks.  [color=6E8E67]"For a Widow, you seem to read the situation poorly.  Sit,"[/color] she said and gestured to the ground.  [color=6E8E67]"I will mend you.  It will give me something to do."[/color]  Her intonations had gone from her harsh, wildthing snarling to a more clipped and brusque healer's commandment.  She would brook no declinations of her statement.  [color=6E8E67]"Sit,"[/color] she repeated with a look Faeril would likely recognize in herself when she was about to commence a healing with a rather wiggly patient.