The Sentinels shipwrecked

He was unruffled by her teeth so close to his lifeline, barely flinching, and for a moment she considered clamping down and ending him rather than respond to his question— but in the unspoken language of wolves, this non-reaction was a display of trust and deference. She pulled back, closing her jaws as she did, so her teeth just barely grazed the skin of his throat. A warning, that she could and would fight him if a need were to arise, but... even she felt the intimacy of the action and shivered despite herself.

Her guard remained up, but Emaleth allowed some of her rage to ebb away, and she took a few step backwards to reintroduce a wall of space between them. She kept silent for a moment, considering how she might answer— she knew, somehow, that names held power. Such power could either be used against her, or it could be something she wielded. A different version of herself might have kept such power from strangers, but something about this place and interaction made her want to use it as a weapon.

I have most recently been known as the Morrighan, she told him, though it wasn't likely he knew of the myth, but my true name is Emaleth Claudette Mayfair. Her eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of the forest, and for a moment she was transplanted back in time, when the sequoias stood tall and she could hear the secrets they whispered to one another. She opened them again to gaze at him, then repeated more confidently, I was born here. This is my father's grave.