[img]http://i.imgur.com/UlzA0f1.png[/img]

Atticus looked over his shoulder at the naked and resplendent Raleigh, watching with growing irritation as the dryad received a scarf from the delicate hands of Siya. “Fucking tree-hugger,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glowing dully in the darkness of the cave. Perhaps it had not been such a keen idea to invite Raleigh onto this excursion. Atticus had long thought that what had transpired between them belonged in the past, but in truth he realized that perhaps he was the one whose emotions were still raw. This realization did nothing to improve his sudden change in mood, and the tattooed creatures on his body laughed and mocked his discomfort, with even a few of the angels breaking their stoic demeanor to jeer at him.

Turning back to look to the small figure of Reginald Hoyle walking before him, Atticus tried to thrust his unusual pettiness from his mind. He tried to focus on controlling his emotion before being introduced to Hoyle’s only living relative. From what the werewolf had told him, his sister had been in hiding for hundreds of years following the last hunting of the Teachglach Mac Tíre. She was a creature unaccustomed to the ways of the humanistic interaction that characterized much of the Veiled World, and she adhered to the more ancient and animalistic natural laws of the werewolf tribes; laws that stated that if one was offended, that individual was within their right to rip out the throat of the offender. Atticus felt himself rub at his neck involuntarily.

He was just about to ask a question of Hoyle when they turned a corner into a anteroom, similarly cut and adorned as the one they had first appeared in. What he saw inside of the room froze him cold in his tracks. There, standing unnaturally still, was an elderly woman, adorned in a patchwork of rough furs and animal skins. Her silver hair fell in two long braids down either side of her neck, and though she was of advanced age, she still exuded an aura of strength and prowess. It was not the woman that froze Atticus in place however, rather the two creatures that flanked her.

On either side of the elderly woman stood two other female figures, both unnaturally beautiful, with fair skin, and long, tangled wet hair that hung to their ankles. They wore sheer dresses of blue silk, and their large green eyes looked with a sense of mischief towards the arriving group. One of the creatures held a hand to the old woman’s ear, and was silently whispering or singing into it, while the other held a long, thin knife to the woman’s throat. 

Atticus’ eyes widened. These creatures were most assuredly Nixie, water spirits of the north, and recognizable to him through Henry’s own stories and descriptions. What they were doing here was beyond reckoning to him, and he could not but stand and stare at the unusual sight. 

“Aislinn…?” Reginald Hoyle said, his voice cracking with fear as he looked to his sister.

A menacing smile crept across the angelic face of the Nixie that held the knife to Aislinn’s throat. Her mouth opened, and the voice that came forth was both equally delicious and revolting to Atticus’ ears.

“You will pay for your sins, wolf-father,” she said to Hoyle before shifting her emerald eyes to Henry. “And you, Näck, will pay for yours as well.”

Without another word, the girl drew the blade across Aislinn’s throat.