Horizon Ridge your anger is frightening the sand

When Wylla glances back over her shoulder, sharing a moment of contact, she forces herself to look down and feel the flush of heat to her cheeks.  She takes a moment to focus on where she’s stepping, listening as she goes on about what kind of dumb name he has. Dickweed. Furi chuckles quietly to herself, carefully putting one foot in front of the other as she descends the face of the fallen ridge.
 
It’s assuring that she doesn’t look like him, thankful Wylla noticed the difference before anything got out of hand. But she did call her pretty. Sort of. She’ll take it.
 
“With a name like Dickweed, it’s probably weeks old vomit,” she tosses back, hopping down two long strides to try and make up for slower, calculate steps. Her landing isn’t so graceful but she doesn’t hit the ground, scuffing forward awkwardly until she manages to stop in true I meant to do that fashion.