[ Her eyes narrow. He's betrayed the little faerie in this. Stolen him from his home in order to turn him over as a collectible to her. Yet he dares to feign some kind of compassion for it all... Such a deceptive little slug. She can see why he was chosen to come here, to play games with what remains of the once proud House. ]

Give it here.

[ She extends her hand. There is no sense in Brandon consoling the fae, not in this state. They will be better served to simply talk to one another. She takes the jar and turns her back on Brandon, holding it in her open palm at eye level to look Kaevyn in the face, ]

Fair visitant, I am known as Qetzi'ah, the golden rain tree. Welcome to the land of my mothers, witchfolk who have served the Mountain and its depths for generations. I am the last of my sisterhood, there are none among mankind I call friend. Let us spend a fortnight in our company, if you dislike my manners still, I will see you safely to your happiness.

[ It slides out of her mouth musically, fluid and without pretense, as if for a moment becoming someone else to whom this was an utterly natural address. The little charm around her neck, a tiny rose in a glass tear drop, glows ever so faintly with a magic unlike what seeps from the black dirt of the Hill. ]