[center][color=c4df9b][u]Dareen Kahina[/u][/color][/center] 
[center][i]within the eyrie[/i][/center]

	Dareen didn't know what she was expecting. A forgotten guest bedroom? A broom closet? For one thing, she had expecting it to be locked. But it opened easily, and her head leaned in naturally to get a glimpse of the inside. Taking a step inward, she pushed the door open and followed the light's rays to the center of the room.The glint of bored curiosity in her eyes quickly morphed into shame as the truth of the room settled in her gut like a rock.[color=c4df9b] "Oops..." [/color] She whispered under her breath.

	Looking upon the empty cradle, her cheeks quickly flushed red. She wasn't supposed to be in here. No one was. Maybe she was overthinking it. Perhaps this room did not imply what Dareen knew it did. Much like the Black Widow had peered in Dareen's mind and saw her darkest secrets, Dareen now felt as if she had peered into the mind of Faeril and saw things that noone was meant to see. This room was a dark recess. Retracting her foot over the threshold, Dareen gently shut the door. Why could she never let well enough alone, she wondered? It almost felt like self-sabotage at this point. Should she tell Faeril? Perhaps if she was some kind of moral crusader, but if Faeril never found out about this everyone would be happier. Best pretend like this never happened. 

	Swiping away at the bottom of her tunic with her hands as if she could simply shake loose the secret of the eyrie, Dareen quietly made her way out of the hallway. Briefly, she paused by Faeril's bedroom. The door was open, and Faeril slept somewhere within. The mercenary...had a lot to make up to the Healer. The debt had only increased. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen now. Dareen probably couldn't wake up Faeril if she wanted too.

	Perhaps she should stay in the hallway, afterall. Faeril might need something when she wakes up, and currently none of the others were inside the eyrie. In order to seem detatched, Dareen went back to the spot she had before. A door down from where Faeril was, outside of Dareen's own guest bedroom. In order to seem busy, she unlooped the quiver from around her shoulder and began counting arrows. Eleven. Eleven arrows left. That distraction did not last long. Might as well count them again. Quietly, the mercenary slid down the wall, moving her knees to her chest. Holding her palm out, a small, well worn sketchbook appeared in her hand from the ether. It was one of the only things she kept vanished. Tucked into the spine was a bundle of charcoal sticks- not nearly as permanent as an ink and quill but suitable for her purposes.

	Delicately holding a charcoal stick between her left index finger and thumb, undid the tight bindings of the book and flipped through their well-maintained pages. Sketches of all kinds rest within, most smudged or fading on one way or another. Faces, the human figure, landscapes, animals, objects of interest, buildings, maps. Pruulish words floated between them all, not sentences or dates but rather exclamations or brief proclamations. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Indeed, Dareen had found an unmarked patch of paper next between two older sketches. What to draw? This was meant to be a distraction, but perhaps putting some of her feelings to the page would help take her mind off some things. 

	A well-dressed woman began to manifest herself within the dark lines of charcoal. Long hair, slender and tall, with wings held close to her back. The faces were always simple and undetailed. Still, Dareen managed to capture some of the elegance and sharpness to the woman's face. She was looking at something in her right hand- something that wasn't there. Dareen would figure it out when she came to it. Soon, the woman was complete. Anyone who knew Faeril could probably tell it was her. Tapping the writing utensil on the corner of the page, Dareen decided on what to draw. There was a toy, now, in Faeril's right hand. Floppy bunny ears, a round body, and four stubby limbs. Staring at the completed illustration for a moment, Dareen slipped the charcoal stick back into the spine of the book and began flipping idly through the pages. The sound of crinkling parchment could barely be heard over the silence of the hallway.