Wapun Meadow You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.

Constantine, he offered. A name to the face that had so rapidly enthralled her. Durnehviir smiled for him then, as he trailed his lips along the underside of her ivory jaw, allowing her the opportunity to flick her tongue across the top of his obsidian about - a stolen kiss.

Her companion asked her something that made her think, and the crimson-tipped beauty did not answer at once. She'd been born somewhere, of course, but she belonged nowhere. Durnehviir knew her mother had been raised to the far South, but her grandmother and great grandmother were Northern - where the Frostfur branch of dragonborn begun. "The road," she told her companion, though there was no sadness in her tone. Despite missing her mother and brothers, Durnehviir had loved her life as a wanderer and she'd learned a great deal over the years. Deciding to remain with her uncle Viinturuth was something she would never regret. "But I was born here. Swiftcurrent Creek, to be more specific."

Given the strong scent of salt that clung to Constantine's fur, she assumed that he lived near the coast. Leader of a pack there, perhaps? She eyed him curiously, secretly hoping that he was every bit the loner she was - with no ties to anywhere or anyone. Unbeknownst to her, Durnehviir's desires mirrored Constantine's own: she longed to know him, despite having just met him. There was simply something addictive about him, something that drew her in and made her yearn for more.