Phantom Hollow belladonna whiskey

Consumed by her own train of thought Jaguara was pliably surprised by his sudden presence, both bi-colored eyes sliding and landing square on the male. The moment it took her to place the leaves down at her feet was the time she used to study him. Young, couldn’t be more a year older than herself if they weren’t the same age, and very much roguish. The wounds spoke for themselves, abundant and alarming, but seeing as Jaguara had nothing to protect (doubting very much that he’d want the blackberry scraps) she held herself with common neutrality. 


“Hello.” She answered simply, her head tilting inquisitively, “Do you need help?” Predominantly assuming that he could use some type of assistance treating his wounds (they seemed to be going at a slow pace as far as healing went), and if not that there were other possibilities. He could have been lost, and easy thing to be when considering the settings, or looking for casual conversation, something she was not entirely oppose to as well.