"Did you see him?" A dark-haired woman asked, kicking her feet languidly across a shingled rooftop. She wasn't exactly beautiful, yet the elements themselves seemed almost frightened of her, pulling away so as not to touch her.
"Of course, though I feel slightly offended he did not sense me," the fox-faced Syris proclaimed. Her once silvery white hair was now a tangle of curls. She was pretty, though, with a freckled face and eyes a deep shade of blue. It was still quite the difference. So much so it was hard to imagine she was Altair's Saintess. Syris had not liked her new look, but then again, neither did Reina. They were quite the downgrade.
Reina laughed. "You are traveling with me. So, of course, he'll not sense you. No one can." That seemed to startle the woman, her friend—former friend. They had traveled together for nearly six months, seven if they counted their journey through the first few floors of Babel's tower.
