Hoshor Plains mal de ojo

It felt like a trap. The request had been made too easily, too swiftly; it was as though Quen was reciting a script given to a puppet by its master. Dulce stayed stiff, still suspicious of the situation, but figured that it wouldn't hurt to humor the idea. The motion toward Blackfeather was clear. Her eyes followed, though she was careful not to reveal that it would be her next destination. Why me? she asked, curious as to what had peaked Quen's interest. Had it been her demeanor, the esteem with which she carried herself, or was she just the first unlucky stranger to pass by?

What will you give me? was the next question. One wolf — the wolf, of those woods had already given Dulce a mission to complete. Granted, the only payment she would receive from Maegi was membership and she'd already gotten that from someone else. It was more so a matter of answering if the reward would outweigh the risk; if she was to get caught up in the middle of another Blackfeather mess, would her benefit cancel out the obvious danger?