Halál looks troubled as he stands with his companions in the evening; his thoughts wander as he listens to the puckish breeze toying with the leaves. A troubled young man we've found, my Lady; help me grant him some measure of your peace.
The bird-man claps Gregori's meaty shoulder with a taloned hand. "My Lady loves this land for the opportunities it provides her servants; there are many here who's bodies have passed on but who's spirits know it not . . ." He trails off as the look on his companion's face shows this may not be the comfort he intends. "What I mean to say is if there are more here we need to help to find their way to Pharasma's Court, we're more than . . . ah, hells, man, shake it off and let's be about our business. You're giving me the creeps!"
He drops his eyes and turns partly away in what appears to be confused embarrassment. Well, that could've gone better. Lady, I hope one day to understand your thinking in making me your emissary.