Moonspear you can only remember what you want to forget

 The shrouded fae felt light around the masked man, though they had only interacted for several moments before this one. It was the same quality that made her adore Aries and Cassiopeia so; that type of endearing honesty that drew others in and held them there. It was strange that the thing she was immediately struck with was his genuineness, considering that the very first thing he did was dodge her question and obscure his identity under the moniker of a newcomer. Even the lively sun had hidden the man from her, and she to him! Of course, Olive did not feel slightest by it, not at all — nor did she really give it a second thought. The woman was a trusting soul and was quick to assume the best in her fellow wolves. It was to her detriment, sadly, as it was the quality that made her love the wolves of Teaglaigh and called them family, to believe that the Blackfeather child had meant well and wanted you to assist a wife and her wounded husband... and we all know how that turned out. 

Soon he relinquished his name and Olive drew her lip in and bit it softly to stifle her giddiness, but she chimed a soft giggle once more. Tryphon. The woman rolled the name around her head and was silent as she did so.  Her eyes cut at it was committed to memory. Tryphon. It was a powerful name, possibly foreign, and Olive felt a youthful sense of embarrassment regarding her own. Olive was a relatively straight forward name; she had been named after the tree with a bitter fruit that represented peace [at least to her family, it had] but her name revealed itself to be divine providence as her nascent eyes transition from their puppy blues to a deep, flashing mossy green — reflected strong in the melange of green shades of the natural world around them. It was simple and she liked it, but for some reason she wondered how it would stack up against his kingly calling. She had not felt such a bubbling emotion since she was a quicksilver babe.

 It was not a bad thing.

"I'm Olive, she greeted and held his gaze, but soon averted to look at ground in front of her willowy limbs. Her eyes met his once more after a moment, and there was a sense of unsuredness, and she silently beseeched him for his understanding.  The women of argent and ash did not want to ask after his history, how we was brought to this mountain, to this place in front of her under the shade of the southern foliage, for it would eventually beget the question of her own story. It was not something she was quick to share with others, as Dakarai was — in fact very few people, outside of the small family, knew her estranged boy, Sirius, existed. So, Olive had to divert the conversation away from the next obvious segue in the conversation, the platitude she was not fond of discussing — at least, until she could trust that they would stow their judgement.

"Would you like to see something?"