Fox's Glade silvertongue

the slim creature took his time composing an answer, though admittedly, indra did not mind. she followed his gaze as it roved from her to the ground -- and then back to her -- his mannerisms were not unlike the wary studying of a crow, she thought. when he did speak, his words were wrought with care; indra examined the sentence internally, in turn taking her own time to respond.

she had never looked at herself in such an introspective manner, but perhaps it was true -- perhaps the hardship and ordeals life had thrown at her and laurel had bettered her -- had tempered her the way a metalworker would finely stress thin steel.

"i don't feel very strong." she admitted at length, looking away from him with a small frown. "are you stronger? are you flawed?" she didn't know, truthfully, if she was the wolf to assess that -- his mixed blood was of no detraction to her, and visibly there was nothing amiss from him save the haunting bronze of his possessing gaze.