Moonstone Quarry hurt me? you can’t — i’ve got mounds of thick skin

“Who’s asking?” Eirlys bantered coyly in return, her lilting brogue cool and dreamy and utterly untroubled. Never mind that she didn’t actually belong here — she didn’t belong anywhere! Instinct told her that the glittering cave wasn’t the strange wolf’s home. It didn’t smell inhabited and it certainly didn’t seem like a typical den, and despite her lack of worldly knowledge the snowdrop knew enough to trust her nose. She liked the voice. It was familiar in a way she didn’t question. Having met few wolves that weren’t members of her immediate family, she assumed that everybody spoke with the same faintly rollicking rhythm that colored her own tongue.

Mindful of her personal safety, she retreated into a cleft of deeper shadow, simultaneously curious about the nature of the man she had encountered and fearful of the thrill of excitement that coursed through her blood. Wandering lost you your family, she chided herself, trying to sober up. She could feel herself smiling, the muscles of her chubby-cheeked face moving of their own accord, and she couldn’t seem to smooth them into the mask of solemnity she normally wore. What would Ceallach think? Her masked brother, so like their father in appearance, was probably already on the hunt for her. Guilt churned in her gut when she realized she didn’t want to be found.

It was this urge to remain anonymous that encouraged her to lie to the unseen inquisitor — something that the plain-speaking female was not typically wont to do. Her tongue twisted ineffectually in her mouth as she groped about for a suitable pseudonym, but in the end, “Eirlys,” she admitted. Unlike her mother, the snowdrop was clumsy at subterfuge. Words didn’t come easily to the girl who spoke only when spoken to, and usually by rote. How are you, fine, thank you, good morning, good morning… — but surely there were plenty of Eirlyses in the world, weren’t there?