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  Half-dragon. It was the only conclusion Velka could come to. Priscilla had been the same way (gods, what has happened to Priscilla--?!), and yet she had been locked away for that little. This creature walked free. It seemed highly unlikely that dragon-kin might walk freely while Ornstein were still breathing, yet she had said as much; that she was Gwyndolin’s sister.   Velka eyed her, suspicion written clear across her face, as she finished lighting her candles and sat down by the fire, a polite distance from Velka. She was quiet, carefully studying her hands as they fiddled with her skirts. If the Outrider gave chase, it would still be far behind them. Before she did anything, Velka needed to know whether she ought to take this stranger with her, or leave her here.   “I left Anor Londo shortly after Gwyn’s departure,” Velka said, her voice measured. “You did not exist.”   Yorshka started at the sound of a voice in the dusty silence; she looked to Velka with wide, worried eyes. “Thou didst leave long before mine arrival.”   “And you claim Gwyndolin took you as his sister so soon?”   “Sister Gwynevere told me that our brother took me in when I was but an infant.”   “I wasn’t gone that long.”   “Lady Velka...” Yorshka’s eyes found her fingers again, and her voice faltered with nerves. “Thou hast been gone many a year. Brother Gwyndolin said that he had sent you away, to your homeland, to keep you safe.”   “That’s not true.”   “Thou art truthful, I think.” Yorshka nodded.    Velka busied herself with folding and unfolding the rag in her hands, as if unfolding it the correct way might show her what to do next. It was Yorshka who broke the silence.   “Thou’rt far prettier in the flesh.”   Velka looked up at her sharply, a hundred responses, mostly questions, springing to mind; but she pushed them away.   “What’s an Outrider?”   “They are knights of the false Pontiff, Sulyvahn. Mindless they are, and relentless hunters. They retain no sanity, and obey no order; not even from him. Brother Gwyndolin says the Outriders are made as punishment, their minds taken from them for causing inconvenience to Sulyvahn.”   “And this Pontiff; you said he had locked you away. What did you mean?”   Yorshka considered her response at length before she voiced it.   “... He is a man, from the lower city of Irithyll,” she replied, “When our brother fell sick, Sulyvahn came to visit him. Gwyndolin said he had to go with Sulyvahn, that I would be safer if I stay behind. He said he would return. But Sulyvahn locked me away, and I have not seen mine brother since. Oh, where could he have gone to...?”   Velka’s grip tightened on the rag in her hand, her eyes fixed on the fire. “A man claimed rule of the city, and when he came for Gwyndolin, you were spared?”   “He said he would come back to me.”   “And you believed him?”   Velka’s words were without malice, but they were laced with disbelief, and Yorshka flinched as if slapped. It was true, was it not? She had been foolish. But she had always trusted the word of her brother - why would she stop, when it seemed they needed each other most? Oh, if she had been as clever as sister Gwynevere - then she might have seen through his kindness, but what then? Could she have stopped him from leaving? She thought not, but if she were stronger, she might have, she might have...   Yorshka’s silence was unusually protracted, and when Velka looked up, the girl’s eyes were sparkling with tears that reflected the firelight. Discomfort enveloped Velka and she shifted where she sat, unsure of how to respond.   “Where did they go?”   Yorshka sniffed, wiping her eyes and trying to appear collected as quickly as she could. “I am not sure,” she replied, in a voice thick with tears. “The Pontiff keeps his church far from the city of true gods, though I know not where to find it. Perhaps there might be someone - not here, for the lower city is as abandoned as well. There is a place I have heard of, where the undead gather to live as humans. The undead settlement. Perhaps news has reached it.”   “Do you know the way there?”   “I have studied maps of our father’s lands,” Yorshka nodded, “Though I know not what the path holds, it is clear before me. The way to the settlement is made treacherous; the only way is through the catacombs of Carthus, and Farron Keep.”   Places Velka had never heard of. It mattered not. What choice did she have?   “Then I see no way forward but to follow the path you have in mind. But know this; if I discover some lie in your words, I will not hesitate to be rid of you.”   Yorshka seemed relieved. “Oh -- of course! I will do my best to lead thee forward!”   Silence fell once more, and Velka was about to advise the girl to rest, when she spoke up again.   “May I pose thee a question?”   “I suppose so.”   “Does’t thou think... brother Gwyndolin... is alright...?”   Velka frowned. This was the very question she sought to avoid thinking of, and yet, the answer seemed obvious.   “Yes. I believe he is alive. Now, sleep. I’ll only allow us a short while, else the ‘Rider will knock down the door.”   The girl’s eyes widened. Velka realised too late that the knight they had seen could not have been an Outrider - his stride was too sure and purposeful - but that Yorshka had seen one because she was terrified of them. All the same, the knight that likely followed them must have been under Sulyvahn’s command if he sought to retrieve Yorshka. Sighing, she took off her coat, and as Yorshka squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to appear asleep, Velka laid it over her and returned to the fire.