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[NightShade]

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Mimus set out a letter in his beak to find the Matriarch of Umbra with a request most urgent:


Cein,

We spoke briefly of the ritual bonding, and my time grows near. The babes grow quite restless. I am hoping that Umbra can accomodate this ritual on Saturday eve of this week, as it is Myrddins desire, as is mine to hold it within the Sepulcher walls.

Shade
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Something is Wrong, I can still feel Existence...

[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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Ceinwyn sat down and pondered this most recent article of mail. She wondered how long her son had courted Nightshade before she had become with child. Drumming her fingers absently, she looked over at the incubation tube. Haydn was staring at her. Again. She was positive the child kept escaping the tube in her absence. The water level was lower and lower each time she returned. She would have to release the child and move to injections soon.

Her attention back on the letter, she considered the implications. Would the children be half kindred and half lycan, or would one blood prove stronger than the other? Perhaps they would die at birth. This blood of Nightshade's was not like typical kindred blood. Normal vampires can not bear children naturally.

Well, at least one of the children would be a strong warrior. Ceinwyn was quite proud of her son. One might call it arrogant pride. Myrddin had made excellent progress in his swordplay. Though he had given up studying necromancy at a young age, he had focused on twisting the ways of paladins to his advantage. She was glad she and Mairsil had chosen to send him to private schooling as a child. His loyalty for Umbra ran very deeply. Thus, his children would grow up and be trained accordingly, in Umbra, by no less than himself.

And Nightshade had sworn fealty to Ceinwyn. One could not risk the mother of one's grandchildren plotting against one. Ceinwyn was quite confident Nightshade would never attempt anything.

So it was that she finally lifted a pen to respond to Nightshade's letter.

Nightshade,

Very well.

~Ceinwyn ab'Arawn

She sent the undead bird back with the letter, unfed. Perhaps it would move faster if it knew dinner was waiting at its home.