Chimera Fields We found to our surprise that he was not fearsome

When she did speak, her voice was gentle and marred slightly by disuse, or at the very least the illusion of it. It was a hushed thing, a two-toned syllable as seift and small as the bird she offered him. Dirge was still as the kingfisher made an investigation of him, its feet a strange sensation against the crown of his head, out of sight of his eyes that struggled to follow it until it had unceremoniously settled between his shoulder blades. He peered at it, only catching sight of its pointed beak and nothing more. At least someone seemed comfortable; his gaze rounded back to the mismatched canine, curiosity once more up staging any charm he may have unbridled.

"What's your name?" He chose simpler words, the short sentence not necessarily to imply a lack of intelligence but rather to seem more kindly. A means to gain what he wanted to know without offense, if it could be avoided. It wasn't the norm for him to encounter such subservient company, even less the norm to encounter a bird keeping, bespeckled woman. He decided she must have been a cross of something, distinctly wolfish, but more than just standard fare. An interesting hybrid, an outlier fitting of the very place they stood in.

A name was only the start he had for her.