Totoka River Hold my hand, it's a long way down

<3!

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Thyri observes him with a weariness that belays instinctual prudence. She does not venture looking for fights and she knows that as a lone wolf — even in the bountiful throes of summer — that a fight and resulting injuries could very well mean death. She may not have years of experience but the warrioress is a intellectual beast and the teachings of her parents hold strong regardless of how against her family she’d been at one point. The guilt of that time still lingers having only been intensified by acceptance into Sangeda. Unfortunately, her insurgence is weaved too intricately into who she is. Her ears cup forth, alert before they flutter back to rest at half mast atop the elegant curve of her skull. He appears as if he is carved of stone, all hard, impressive musculature, pewter, stone and snow as the colors wash and fade into his pelage. Realizing that her observation could be mistaken for staring she diverts her eyes to the river though he remains in her peripheral vision, and the true focus of her attention.

If he is bothered by her presence he does not give off any indicators to it and she ghosts toward the bank in the interest of sating her thirst while he plunges into the water. The thought of bowing her head to lap at the water, exposing the curve of her spine perturbs Thyri on instinct but once upon a time she used to imitate Gyda’s queenly air as a whelp back when she thought being the royalty of the Dragon held actual meaning, when fanciful dreams and fairytales were real. Now, she knows the truth and has become disillusioned. Her distrust does not equate to fear, however, and she stops at the bank, lowers her head and laps at the cool, refreshing water, eyes risen to keep him in view as she drinks. The sun is warm on her back and as the water ripples it glints and reflects off the water causing her eyes to narrow and casting him in an obscuring shadow until Thyri's head rises once more and she takes a step back from the bank, salmon pink tongue drawing across her jowls to collect the droplets of water collected upon her cremé colored chin.

He does not strike her as the same kind of man that Ashton (she thinks that is his name) is. This male seems much more quiet, more brooding and the mystery tickles at her curiosity despite her better judgement. She assumes that if she is to turn and leave he will not try to stop her but in surprise to herself she does not simply turn and leave. It would have been easier, she admits, as small talk has never been her forte and distrust makes her entirely unwilling to indulge in any conversation that speaks too much of who she truly is. It doesn’t matter, she admits, she is nothing special nor is she on the run. Nevertheless, she is guarded and secretive and enticed by the idea of using Skadi as a persona though who she is in correlation to who Thyri is and how different she could make the “character” is still unknown to the aspiring thespian. “Hello,” Her silence shatters as her vocal breach the distance between them; all the while wondering what it is about him that intrigues her so.

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