Blackfoot Forest and she left her land — chaos

she faces him, the smell of blood pungent upon the air. he does not doubt it's hers because it certainly isn't his. he ponders — likely not long to remain so — what led her to succumb to the desire ...urge? to maul the poor, innocent tree. to inflict damage upon not just it but also her own body? he bids his tongue to still ( for the moment, anyway ) thinking it best he get a feel for her and judges whether his beautiful face might end up her next victim before proceeding to satisfy his curiosities. she does not answer his question and though taarlok offers a tight press of his lips for the briefest of moments he responds with a well lacquered smile. he is used to this game. of pretend, of lies. it's one of his favorites, after all. they look alike, he notes absently, both not pure blood wolf and likely of a similar breed of dog. he assumes, at any rate. she makes a demand with a simple word — close enough to the common tongue that taarlok easily can assume what she means and then dissect deeper so that he's reading between the lines, picking up on what was left unsaid. oh darling, he tsk's at her internally. he asked first and glamazons ( obviously ) came first. "hello." he offers her facilely. he would not answer her unspoken demand until she explains the unattractive mess she made out of both the tree and herself.