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For the life of her, Saeryn could not understand her brother's insistance of another sibling. Her memories of their childhood had flashed back, knocking her senseless to the floor, and yet this Fenrir that he spoke of... she remembered nothing.
She strove with the thought, clutching the hand of her twin, until her head ached. Her wounds still hurt, and she was tired.
"Degas, if you insist that we've a brother named Fenrir, than I will believe you." she sighed, exasperated. Degas did not look much better. He brushed his locks out of his eyes with his bandaged hands. Suddenly a look of concern fell across his brow and he looked at his sister. Her bandages still peeked from beneath her gown, and her face held a small nearly concealed frown.
"Mistresses, I hate to interrupt... but my sister... she is still injured, and she is still exhausted. The day has been long. Will someone help me get her to a warm bed?"
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