the words we speak in the silence between

She waited for the wolf's answer, holding herself with the dangerous sort of stillness that came with bracing oneself for tragedy. He confirmed her fears in one fell swoop, touting Mythal as an example. Fear and fire fought for supremacy within her heart - and her nod, when he asked if she worried over Ghilan'nain, was a brittle, fresh-forged thing.

To her surprise, he offered to contact her if he found any of the Mistress's pieces. Katriel paused. Pieces of Ghilan'nain? Did she want them? The answer came swiftly. Yes. If only to be sure, to be certain, that they could never become whole ever again. She needed to know that Ghilan'nain was gone for good. The Mad Scientist had done too much harm, and was beyond any hope of redemption. Now that she knew it was a possibility, she would never feel comfortable chancing her Creator's resurrection.

And she would not deny that she relished the thought of personally damning Ghilan'nain to the Void for all eternity. Her revenge was more than 5000 years in the making, and she would not overlook the possibility now.

"Yes. I would destroy them, if I can - or cast them into the depths of the sea, if aught else." Her expression hardened into one of grim resolve. "How would I find one? Are you able to sense them, or do they take a particular form?"