Druid Vincent

Lower your voice, child, or we'll have more than just guards to deal with. (Vincents voice is steady, yet a glint of concern flickers in his eyes. He puffs on his pipe, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. The cabin, dimly lit by the flickering lantern, feels claustrophobic. You sense the weight of his words as the shadows seem to close in. They will be here soon you told your uncle with a desperation tone)