"Love does not exist." The child watched the grief-stricken wolf with growing interest; the jealousy grew stronger as she beheld the movements of the fine curved limbs, the beauty of the woman's arrangement upon the ground. She so desired that for herself — a gentle sound from Madeline drew her from her reverie.
Claudia's head snapped 'round at the arrival of the new woman — so focused had she been on the crying wisp that she had not heard the other's arrival. Cursing herself for such weakness, the golden child fixed the newcomer with the cold skies of her gaze, directly searching for the answering orbs in the face opposite her. "Such dramatics unfold before you, yet you are unmoved," she observed aloud, her tone dry. "I would comfort her, but I am afraid she will infect me with her insipid grief."
There came then a high, bell-like ringing of a laugh, the mirth of a small child, but there lurked therein the aged bitterness of a woman, and it was not toward the pathetic lovely thing upon the grass at which it was directed. No; Claudia laughed toward the woman cloaked in greyscale this time of the eve, vaguely mocking, her tiny cub's-body still holding a commanding air which mirrored that of the mountain's ruler.
"I am Claudia," the gilded girl called at length. "This is Madeline —" here she indicated her guardian, the slim lovely French thing, clothed in tresses of dark red, with the emerald of her eyes glinting like secrets in the shadows, where she had turned them demurely. "We are newcomers to these lands, and seek sanctuary."
Casting one last glance at the crying minx, Claudia approached the one who she knew to be in control of this place, or sensed such. Madeline followed, her attention only for her small charge, and the little one gazed up at the mysterious stranger with a small cool smile graven upon her lips.
