Khait's face remains stoic, the cream-tea skin perhaps tensing over her jaw, but otherwise she merely stares as what can only be blood (smells of blood..?).  A small crowd begins to gather-- the intrepid of the city venturing out into the streets to look on at the gory fountain.<br/><br/>She spits into the dust of the street and traces the sign of Bast upon her brow with her fingertips.  Then, heaving a close-lipped sigh, she speaks aloud, her voice level and steady.  "Bard," she intones with the evenness of a distant church-bell, "you must know many tales... of legend and of prophecy."  She turns steadily to Falia.  "Have you heard such as this told before?"<br/><br/>After a moment's pause, she urges them off again.  The bag in her hand seems to writhe with life.  "We must hurry."