Herian does not immediately look to the Warden, to the orange and yellow glow and stark shadows that flit over her skin, just as they must Herian's. They all of them are skeletons in this light, she thinks. It seems appropriate.

"Thank you," she manages, as even as ever. Controlled. "I will pass this on to Councilor Leblanc, or see that it reaches the Advisors." She rolls the vial betweenher fingers, and slips it into a pouch hanging from her belt, with the scraps of notes.

"How do you fare, Warden?" Maker knows she has no satisfaction in bein right.