Blackbeak Bluff don’t do it, don’t give it up

look-ee here, chickadee, he says and her doe eyes narrow into dark and pointed daggers.  he had given her the space she required but she still took several sprawling steps backwards on her willow stilt legs.

he is a smooth talker with an undeniably southern accent; she cannot decipher if his personal nicknames are because she is fragile or because of his heritage.  nice lady, chickadee.

she assumes, for now, that it is the latter.  she will give him the benefit of the doubt because he did just save her hide, after all.  okay, she breathes silently, averting her gaze to the ground.  i'm fawn.

it did not need to be said that she was alone; her emaciated form and cowering stature should be enough.