Wapun Meadow what does fury want me to do, swallow it?

She told him that she wasn't sad, but tired and stepped away from his approach. Icarus stopped abruptly, a look of hurt flitting over his features, though it vanished almost immediately. A part of him understood the wariness that the swarthy girl felt for him, but he felt that it was unneeded, for he was not here to assasinate her. Surely, she knew that. Because if he was here to kill her, she'll know, because she would be dead. But she wasn't dead, which indicated her that he wasn't going to hurt her. Ica's wolfish brows creased into a frown and his crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at her unabashedly, not knowing that staring might provoke hostile reactions. He didn't know, and if he did, he probably wouldn't care.

"No," Icarus murmured, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. "I don't think so." He looked, almost sadly, at the flattened flowers. "Haven't got a chance to live," he muttered, almost to himself. He shook himself out of his reverie and lifted his gaze to the green eyed she-wolf, canting his head, "Who are you?" he asked, his tone soft and lilting before speaking again, almost as an afterthought, "I'm Icarus," he offered, almost as if in exchange for her own name and information. The brown furred wolf intrigued him, and he wanted to know more.