"Moira, Moira." The winds whip about Nerium's black skirts and scarves, giving her the appearance of flight. "Still so angry." She walks forward, letting the violent energy of the storm carry her. "You think me wrong. I do not wish to sever you from your family." The Coombs need no help in this. And Nerium knows the value of blood, the value of loyalty, far too strongly to ever come between that. "I wish to offer you aid. Friendship if you will." Nerium gently, carefully, places a hand on her shoulder. "These forces are my own. If you are not careful, they will consume you."