Arrow Lake sonnenlicht

The accent upon the male’s lips was intriguing to the pale sylph, but his words remained few and thus hard to determine its origin. At her approach, his tail lifted, while her own swayed with deference in the cold winter air. The air that unfurled past her lips in a quiet huff remained its own smoky cloud—much that matched the sylph’s smoky voice as she confirmed. “Yes,” she purled, her eyes sweeping over the scars of the Kapitän and only briefly noting the emotionless stare of violet eyes.

“Mahler, was it?” Of course, she was appointing names to faces, though his scent was already familiar to her—Diaspora’s claim was thick with it just as much as it was Stigmata’s.