Deepwood Weald penny for my thoughts, I deserve a dime

this was becoming old, very fast. Huntington had been patient. perhaps could even say she had the patience of a saint. she had gifted her time to assist this woman in hunting down her brother, yet no name had been given. no means of identification. their own stubbornness clashed with her aloofness. she did not even know the title of this woman and did not even bother to ask. why would she, because when it came down to it; she did not care. it was quite simple.

perhaps a petty part of her existed then, for she did not give her dubbing either. she strolled in the exhaustion the other seemed to have toward her. building it. waiting for it. a snap. some form of knowledge given, some anger, something. and then it was gone in a flash. Huntington decided if she would not cooperate, she would simply leave the other here to search for the missing boy. "I cannot assist you" came to her quiet tones "if I do not know the name of this boy."

all she was doing was following after the woman, involving herself in her own way. it was clear she was a newcomer to this landscape. identifying the pack scent the other held was foreign to her. she did not know any packs and knew deeply no one. "I do not even know how much help I may give" she went on evenly "for I am quite new to this realm." ah, was that so difficult to admit? perhaps a bit.