Sun Mote Copse "Eins, zwei, drei ... Ugh, I do not think we brought enough body bags."

It seemed the more she acted out, the less he cared: this both infuriated Giana and quelled her stubborn heart, but eventually she did turn her gaze back to him -- his chest, not his face--. So far, he'd dealt with her shit -- she could say, at the least, he was patient -- and hadn't asked a million useless questions, as the ivory fae had expected from a man. Perhaps he could suffice as another body for the Winter, as Eshamun clearly saw him fit. Maybe she'd jumped the gun a little too early: Molech had brought her here, why was it so strange that the god would bring Bastian?

Her stormy gaze noted his more than confused gaze, but as he was silent she didn't choose to comment. 

                   "So, uh, there isn't much else to show-- you'll have to find your own den, but I can show you the place our other Katimir sleeps."

Licking her lips -- and feeling more than a little foolish for her behavior that this man took so easily in stride -- Giana turned her gaze to his face only briefly before jerking her chin towards the thicker scent of Ar-Khalba and where she knew he ruled the men. Fully silent, she set off at a waddling gait to the glade.