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

[table width=85%][tr][td]

Hail. He speaks to her and her ears rise smoothly atop her skull now cupped forth and attentive. His lantern gaze meets her keen caramel gaze without challenge. Thyri holds it steadily. She will not look away in the consideration that diverting her gaze could be mistaken for subordination. Wildheart. The name he addresses her with reminds the warrioress of the name(s) Ashton bestowed upon her expect she feels no contempt in being addressed as wildheart. It is not her name — nor her moniker — but there is no reason to find this particular “nickname” as offensive. Thyri watches as he moves out of the water, diagonal from her as if he intends to leave. She would not have stopped him if he had. To her surprise, he lingers settling into a sphinx-like position facing her. There is ample distance between them and despite the inviting thump of his tail against the earth her lips tug into a terse line and she remains where she stands upon the bank leaving the distance between them.

Her intrigue and his physical assurances are not enough to convince Thyri to lower her guard. Regardless of how smooth this meeting was going so far the fact remains that he is transient to her. An unknown that she assumes will be passing like all the others. He speaks strangely, like Ashton but also not like the far too casual male she’d met …however many days has passed since she departed the Ridge. Her lack of proper sleep has caused the days and nights of travel to blur together. They bleed into one another because they were all the same. “You can smell me just fine from where I stand.” Tenacious and adamantine as ever Thyri remains in place, refusing to budge. If that wasn’t good enough then it was unfortunate for him; but nearing him as he requests demands a trust she does not feel; and no amount of intrigue is enough to cancel her natural dubiety towards strangers.

[/td][/tr][/table]