Moonspear i lie perfectly still

He was friendly enough, so Farrah soon felt herself shed her armor of debasement. Her ears pricked forward, gaze lifting and meeting his own. It was easy to be herself in the presence of kind wolves, but there were so few of them — and Farrah was far too trusting. From his few words, it was impossible to know if the convalescent was one of them, but she’d give anyone a chance. 

As much as she wanted to steel herself against vulnerability and openness, it came so naturally to her.

The pale fae pursed her pale lips, taking one second too long to respond — her name did not come so easily these days. Unthinkingly, the woman uttered a singular “O-” before clipping her jaw together, silencing her own voice. Without skipping a beat, she corrected herself. 

“Farrah. I’m Farrah.”

It was an honest mistake that anyone wishing to assume a new identity might make; she had so little practice, being constantly alone and all. In fact, this might have been the first time her new moniker had been uttered out loud, for another soul to hear, and that realization gave Farrah some pleasure. She smiled and gave tiny laughed, brushing her maw with a twiggy forearm. 

Canting her head, sure that she made zero sense to him. Farrah returned his question. “And you are…” she began, then filled in the answer by herself. “New?”