Phsara had fallen into silence again, a habit of hers that Iory could have lived without. The woman's eyes had studied just about every inch of Iory's face, under firelight and encased in shadow. She hadn't moved much at all since the beginning of their conversation, save for her lips, and the lack of movement was beginning to annoy Iory. Even her voice was growing quieter. During the particularly lengthy periods of silence, Iory felt like she were talking to a statue.

Needless to say, her patience was wearing thin.

Phsara hadn't even met eyes with Iory since their last exchange. Her mind seemed a cloud of conflict. Phsara lowered her head, the small movement only agitating Iory more. "You are not myr either, much less an Ilael."

Iory breathed a sigh. "You're not convinced of my intentions."

"You are asking me to let loose a fiend from the deepest depths of Hael onto mankind. Such blatant loss of life certainly requires more than a fleeting whim."

"Sometimes a fleeting whim is all one needs to take action."

"Don't you suppose I would have done this already? I've had my fantasies, but they were nothing more than the railings of a delusioned woman."

Iory made a face, not even making the effort to retain the smile on her face. She was tapping impatiently, watching Phsara's expression this time. "You old folk are all the same," she muttered, shaking her head. "Now that you've lived your years, all you suppose that's left is pondering your actions. Your life doesn't end when you hit sixty, you know."

The silence arose once more, only twisting Iory's face into a deeper frown. This woman, though obviously uneasy where she stood, was spending far too much of her time considering every pro and con of Iory's request. Think, think, think! Was that all people did when they grew older? Was she making a bloody list in her mind?

Phsara's lips had been pursed long enough to appear glued together. That was Iory's cue. She shook her head, breathing out a sigh between her teeth. Iory rose sharply to her feet, her hands disappearing underneath her cloak. "You obviously need a few centuries to decide. I, on the other hand, don't have as much time to fritter away with my delusioned fantasies as you."

"Wait."

If Phsara hadn't spoken any sooner, Iory would have drawn her dagger. What would've been the start of a violent threat became an impatient departure in Phsara's eyes. Iory peered down at the hermit, her smile still a stranger to her face and her hand still tightly wrapped about her blade. Phsara's expression hadn't changed and she still couldn't quite meet Iory's gaze.

"Fafnir." She turned her head in what Iory assumed was an attempt to meet her eyes. "Although one of his caliber requires an... exorbitant sacrifice. Both on my part as well as on others. There's no way to gather so many lives..."

The smile had returned to Iory's face once more, a genuine one, a triumphant one. Finally she was starting to see through the heavy layers of morality that the hermit had built up around herself. With a smooth motion, her hand slipping free from her dagger, she sat back into her chair. "That, I can provide."