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Kiria’na
Again she smiles even as the walking corpse that once was Brendon lunges toward her. Once more he strikes and once more his movement simply carries him through her and once more a scrap of cloth floats placidly in the air where she had seemed to stand. “I see now,” she laughs, continuing to speak in her native tongue, “that ‘bumbling’ is clearly a certain form of ranger although I do not see its benefit.” Already she has withdrawn the tuft of feathers her father had given her and the owls fly among the angry giants scattering scraps of cloth as they move. Soon all is as once it had been on that terrible day of battle, a dance of shifting images of the women and the owls .......
ooc: Spree, I trust this will be sufficient cover for you.
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