Ankyra Sound I am the mask you wear

as the she-wolf emerged from the clutch of firth, Lycaon stared openly at her. not because his brain had error 404'd at having just succeeded in pinpointing the exact location of his long-lost flesh and blood, but because he was expecting a dude to come stodging out of the ferns. she crooned a rejoinder but he had no scintillating wit, just a lot of gawking to do.

"uh." unbidden, he swung his head away from her, backpedaling hamfistedly. "no hablo ingles, madame." he muttered with an undisguised lack of dialect (spanish or french, for that matter). his eyes roamed to scrutinize the silver bandings across her face. it still didn't register that this was Wylla -- in the brawn! -- but he did starkly remember childhood anecdotes about succubus living in the temperate rainforest and their seduce-then-execute shenanigans.