[b]Lucretia[/b]

A response to Draven had been forming on her pale lips when a shudder ran down her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as if charged by static and her eyes darted around nervously. 

Could it be..?

Looking distractedly out to the festival, her fingers picked at her dress in a disgustingly mortal characteristic of anxiety. “Draven,” she warned, not even looking at her son. “Be careful– very careful.” With a low whistle, she called up on her companion, the ghostly pale starling, to circle the druid from above protectively. “My brother's here.”

Folding her arms, she faded into the wind. She had to hide her presence. Though Darko was admittedly an ally – family, even – she had no intention of talking to him. Not unless she was truly desperate.