The Tangle hips that could bear you a buffalo

“It’s okay,” she mumbles, more to herself than anything. She’s never minded too much. Blixen talks a lot. So does her mother. Artaax doesn’t and she’s more uncomfortable around him than anything (she’ll never admit to Wildfire how intimidating she is). “Is it bad?” she asks, watching the spot that causes her to wince. There doesn’t seem to be any other wounds to note but the one is significant enough to leave a trail.

“You’re not white,” she blurts, her eyes widened surprised by her own impulses. It’s been a moment since the girl mentioned the meaning but it lingers on her mind. Did her name mean anything? One ear swivels in thought, looking away as her cheek fills in hot.