[She shakes her head at the question, jarbling out vague words in an alien language- but Ronan isn't anywhere nearby to help her or to translate for her and she twists her fingers at the questioning, anxiously looking over the grass.]
Greywaren is... porta. Gate. He gives- form to the thought. Nnn, he makes it alive. It needs him.
[Her eyes close for a moment and she takes a breath, a soft, huffy puff of air.]
no subject
Greywaren is... porta. Gate. He gives- form to the thought. Nnn, he makes it alive. It needs him.
[Her eyes close for a moment and she takes a breath, a soft, huffy puff of air.]
I need him.