Two Rivers Isle a proper story

She hasn't been looking at the water long before the snaps of twigs threaten to break her attention. Cypher's not worried; were it a bear, the sound would've heavier, and a mountain cat would've been on her before she'd have time to do anything but gape. Whatever it is, it's bold but not threatening. Not yet, anyway, and so she's focused on finding a fish slow enough for her to catch. It's only when the musk reaches her that she looks up, golden eyes resting on the stranger's rustic features.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks to her, the twang of it taking nothing away from it's depths. She finds it comforting— familiar, even. Her dad's from way down south originally, or so he'd told her, and the way this fellow speaks reminds her of his subtle drawl. Cypher's adopted the relaxed canter, but she's born and raised in the north and her own dialect has little of the soul. "I wasn't made for singing," she tells him easily, "or fishing, but seems like you might've been. Mind showing me a thing or two?"