Bearclaw Valley With our hands over our hearts

She shifted uncomfortably on her paws, but the regal smile gracing her pale features did well to hide this. Onyx Saefyn was the name that fell from the golden wolfess' lips, a name that the ghost found herself admiring - it was a beautiful name, a variety of agate with different colours in layers. That was what Onyx meant, right? Was that to suggest that perhaps this woman had many layers, many thoughts and different personalities that could be unlocked when a trusting hand took hold of hers? Curious.

The dove's ears perked forward at the rambling, and when the other woman began to apologise, Gwen only shook her head - a glimmer of understanding washed over her expression, a glimpse of the real one beneath the mask of fake happiness. She knew what it was like to worry about rambling, to worry that you were being annoying and wishing desperately to just flee. Yet her problems had gone so much deeper, a wallowing sadness that seemed never to dissipate into the abyss and instead cursing her from the very core of her soul. 

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise. I tend to ramble sometimes." Not anymore, she thought dismally, for words were rarely spoken unless she knew them to be necessary, nowadays. "You have a lovely name." It was more of a whisper, a quiet addition to her last sentence, but a true statement nonetheless.