The same thing had happened to the offspring of Salaark and Tyris. Since the Guardians' children were born with the capability of using all kinds of true magic and were gifted with a life that could span for almost a millennium, the Council considered them to be a threat of the highest level.
'Well, the silver lining is that plants are the chattiest among living beings. The disguised Treantling might be able to point me in the right direction.' Scarlett thought.
She handed several copper coins to pay for her meal to the waiter, enough to feed a small platoon, and almost as much as a tip.
"I'm flattered by your attentions, miss, but I'm strictly a waiter. You're not even my type, sorry." The young man said, yet he still pocketed all the money.
"Neither are you mine, smartass of a Treantling." Scarlett's voice was a low growl, her teeth shapeshifting for a second into fangs. She wanted to make sure the greenhorn would get her point.
