The salve that Rellah had applied seemed to be doing at least some good. The slow bleeding was greatly reduced. The natural regeneration that would turn into a scar, and then disappear in time, did not appear to be happening, however. This troubled her - overshadowing the small joy she found in seeing Rellah again.

And Deleaduindill's words troubled her. "Someone with your knowledge doesn't fall down and cut both wrists at the same time." On the contrary, she mused with a sad, wry smile, people who knew the things she did - particularly firsthand - were most often the ones who 'fell' and cut both of their wrists. She wondered though, reflecting on the conversation, whether Deleaduindill had believed those to be wounds inflicted in order to pull Michael back from whatever pit the professor had tricked him into? That ritual had required the smallest of cuts from her. In fact, the ritual had detailed that her blood was not to mingle with the gathered bloods of the demonkins at all, nor fall within the arcane circle.

Maybe it was best if he thought it so, she thought. It was easier to explain reckless bloodletting in the name of obscure magics than to explain that she didn't remember doing it, but had her own guesses as to what had really happened.

She had thought to mention it when they spoke - that the wounds on her wrists were not related to any ritual or magic - but she did not wish to open up that avenue of conversation. She knew very little of Deleaduindill. She knew he traveled other planes (some she had only heard of in passing or in rare texts or mentioned during her time in the Abyss). She knew that he was a caretaker, of sorts, to Iwendari. The first time she'd met him, he had been looking for the elfmaid. When asked, Iwendari denied knowing him. Meravyel briefly wondered why, now and even then.

Everything else she knew of Deleaduindill had come to her through Galen. Particularly of late. She knew of Galen's tryst with Calista, and of Deleaduindill's (perhaps deserved) anger at the matter. What troubled her most was that Calista had apparently taken sanctuary, guarded by Galen and Joylah, when either a threat was made or felt toward Calista's unborn child coming from Deleaduindill.

Meravyel was uncertain how to view the strange elf, but had learned through experience that perspective can alter the truth into something unrecognizable. She did not doubt Galen, but she did not trust information that was less than first hand. ...that, she mused, is what had gotten her in trouble in the first place. And continued to do so.

Meravyel gazed out over Tel'Ruid.

She wondered if the last few days had been a dream, a nightmare, a premonition, or some illusion. It felt real enough, but seemed less so.

Deleaduindill was the second in two days to come to her with warnings about her voice carrying too loudly into the demon world. The first had spoken briefly and faded away as if he were never there. She smiled slightly at the memory. Even if it was a hallucination, perhaps madness would not be too cruel to her.

A breeze came in from the bay sending a soft, almost mournful whisper through the trees. In answer, Meravyel lifted her voice, hopeful but haunting, in a soft song to match.