Ankyra Sound A million dreams for the world we're gonna make.

He expressed a genuine concern for her, which was... endearing, she supposed. Their companionship was one without stress, a friendship that allowed Nyx to be entirely herself. Both Lycaon and his brother brought out the mischief in her and, strangely, had kept her rooted to Grimnismal for longer than she'd anticipated when she agreed to band with them for a while. It was in the nature of an Ostrega to wander, yet something about the brothers was enough to ground her in one location.

Nyx had not considered what their intimacy might to do alter whatever relationship they'd built and she did not wish to scrutanise their situatio, for she knew that she could not commit herself to him fully. Despite recent development and without consideration that new life might have been planted within her womb, the golden Ostrega's intentons to depart when the snows thawed still remained. Even then, as Lycaon regarded her with worry in his tone, she thought primarily of herself.

"Ha fucking ha," she scoffed playfully at his mention of the plague, raising a forelimb to swat at her pale comrade, "if I'm diseased, I'm holding you and your crotch responsible." She eyed him suspiciously, then sank tiredly to her haunches to move fluidly onto their investigation of the real source of her illness: "I ate fish. It tastes like ass at the best of times, but I've been craving it."