Moonspear confident

Her laugh suits her, too; though warm now, he knows it for the kind of mirth that could ring cold with ice, if necessary. As it is, her retort broadens his smile further, and he meets her gaze before looking away, shaking his head in response to her question. His eyes are on the peaks once more, sapphire glittering in the all-encompassing sunlight of a summer's day.

"How can I fear something I was born into?" Llewellyn asks, glancing back at her and raising one gilded brow. "You are much like the ones from my family, save you are dark rather than pale." He stretches slightly, muscles rippling under his plush pelt, and nods down the slope, through the trees. "I was not born among the mountains. The change of scenery is. . .refreshing."

She is a princess, he thinks, but she is more than that, really. Princesses, to him, were soft and tame, cultured--a beautiful bird's egg, picturesque but fragile. No, this girl is not fragile. Not soft or tame, either. "Is Charon your father?" he inquires mildly, almost off-hand. He knows it must be true, but he wants to ask before he takes this assumption away when they part at last today.