The Lost Can be Found

Virga... You say nothing as she scrambles up, fear radiating from her every move. You can smell it on her, see it in the whites of her eyes. She must be new. Maybe not Helovian, but no Rift-born either. Maybe that is why your anger simmers to a dull heat in the back of your mind. Why you lift your head, horn lancing skyward, and regard her with mild interest. A rarity: you, calm in the face of someone else's distress. You, calm at all. She asks what you've done, and while the answer is nothing, you don't bother to explain. You look her over instead, eyes traveling her equipment, her build, the condition of her body. She appears athletic, well-built. The strange leather contraption covering much of her body holds various odds and ends. You've never seen the like, and you spend a long moment in study, your eyes narrow, expression inscrutable. Her distress, you ignore. It does nothing for you, at present. Eventually, though, she asks another question, this one sensible. You nod, as if reaching some internal conclusion. "You're in the Portal," you explain, and your dark eyes travel from her face to survey the forest. One corner of your mouth twitches in disgust. Ugly — ugly, the lights and the fog and everything about it. The gnarled trees. The cold clutching it all in a tight fist. "It's part of the Rift." You're talkative today. She ought to be grateful. Returning your gaze to her, you contemplate. What kind of potential does she have? Is she worth dealing with? Maybe. You wish Savera were present. Vera would know better. Vera would say something silver and charming, to be sure. You are neither silver nor charming. You have only the blunt force of your goal, the anger burning holes in your brain. "It took you from where you were," you say, speculating. "Stole you from your home." A slight tilt of your head. You wait to gauge her reaction. light shines brighter in the dark

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