Firestone Hot Springs lotus eater

She gave a soft hum at his response about the stench of the waters being able to hide one's scent (a useful idea), but she didn't ponder over it too long, for his next statement — a compliment — caused the corners of her mouth to curve upwards into a pleased grin. For if there was any way into the Cerberus' three hearts, it was via flattery (and, y'know, absolute subservience and loyalty and devotion and—).

"You're a charmer," she stated matter-of-factly, meeting his vibrant gaze with a teasing look. Puck. A simple name for a simple fellow. He seemed to fit the charismatic jester type, so different to the stoic, serious demeanours around Moonspear. The pack (or territory?) he mentioned Lyra had never heard of, or if she had, it clearly wasn't important enough to remember.

"Lyra," she offered in turn before she tilted her head slightly. "Your home has a beautiful name." A half-truth; of course the Ostrega would never think any place would be able to top her own beloved home nor its name. "What's it like?"

He told her, and the two then spoke idly but playfully about this that and everything, Lyra enjoying the flirtation that ran through the man's words before, finally, she took her leave.