Stavanger Bay losing feeling's getting old

the press of his nose against such a sensitive spot brought a chill through her, which came as something of a shock. she shivered, gently, before shifting and pressing closer to velen -- perhaps it was easily played off as a cold chill. ah! what was this? dalia had so much questions that she could not ask -- but if she did, could he even answer? 

she pressed forwards, seeing that velen did the same. "how dare they," she murmured in response to the orca -- which was a far stretch! even further than her own, since it was highly plausible that rannveig and velen would put one another up to swimming with sharks. but an orca? never! but dalia didn't call him out on his story... it wasn't worth it. 

a soft hum escaped dalia's throat to respond to his comment. she didn't have the right words to use but she could make plenty of sounds -- just to show that she heard. that she listened. that she understood. she liked the feeling of being needed -- no matter by who. back in drageda, everyone needed portia or dio. no one needed her. she was a carbon copy of her mother, disposable to a fault. here she was someone else, here she was needed. and by velen. 

it was not her native tongue, but trigedasleng was second nature to her. it felt more personal to her, it was something her family and pack mates had spoken often to one another -- even portia and dio, who had not been born into drageda. and beyond that, she could say anything and velen would not understand a word of it. "yu laik a nemiyon kom lanik de." she murmured, feeling bold under the account that he would not understand her. and she would never explain to him what it meant -- it was corny and embarrassing... if he ever found out she would blame it on her tiredness. and then she pressed her head against his neck, beneath his chin, gaze fluttering softly.