[Cyril Darkcloud]

“Ru’ah hamot’tah,” he spits the words, “The Devourer, has been here – the very air is still thick with the poison of its passing .....” A deep anger coils just below his speaking. He stands very still upon the roof, listening and feeling. “And there has been another ..... another as terrible in its own way .....” Noting the flash of recognition in her eyes, he asks, “This Fay’re?”

“If the poison of the Devourer still taints the air out here, inside it must be ......” He turns to her, “Those inside will need healing and .... comfort .... but we can do nothing for them until the air itself is cleansed.” He opens the door to the upper floor and stands before the entrance, an axe clutched tightly in each hand, surrounding himself with the anger of the storm and chanting softly in time with its movement.