Dragoncrest Cliffs well every lord i pray doesn’t sound the same,

The skayona had ended up lounging at the precipice, snowshoe paws curled at the wrist over the dark crest and her chin propped upon them. Her pale eyes had been enthralled with the sea, peering into it as she would a pond; as if she wasn’t on the verge of an endless, briney drop. Distantly, she wondered how many times doamnă de sânge or dragă had ended up pondering before these incessant waves. Countlessly? Always?

But now, her eyes whirled to seek for the source of a stumbling of...gratitude. Half-distracted, they finally alit on a smoldering she-wolf she didn’t recognize at first, and her slim brows narrowed generously as she scoured her most recent memories. Foraging... the excursion... oh! Weeks of activity had gone by, and in the time since she’d all but almost forgotten the ranach Mallaidh and she had recruited.

So, with that in mind, she supposed that Isleña must be thanking her for that, despite the rushed lapse time had lent them. ”It is nothing,” she mused, and as an afterthought, leapt into the baser speech of Common for the brana’s convienence. Perhaps it would open up another way to communicate? Nevertheless, it had been a learned thing from Rhaesuial, when unversed tenants would arrive and they scarce had any means of communication beyond gesture.

And if that were the case... what if she taught Isleña?

Rising up to face the roan female, she made to close the distance between them, before reclining back onto her haunches. ”How do you feel, at Drageda? Sad still? Safe?” Aure hoped her reclusive bearing wouldn’t give cause to Isleña to balk again; but she tried to make her features soft for her. Open, as the night did for borean veins, sometimes.