Whitefish River tired blue boy walks my way

the woman knew well that no life was independent. she was enslaved to her own needs, and should she not serve her body she would not live. but it was here that her servitude ended, for she would not follow another blindly. when he did not contest this, she was silent on the matter,  finding further discussion on the fact would not serve any use. "Does it have a name?"  she questioned, more out of slight curiosity than a burning need to know the answer. 

At the mention of Cry, her brow quirked. "I see that. He moved at my pace, and I've been travelling all my life. Few can do that." she admitted, rather interested in the male. what debt did he owe, what aspect of him, made him work so hard in all he did? he was a curiosity, the man, and while she did not intend to leach his history from him, she wanted to understand him better.