The Tangle the earth is littered with the ruins

scarab, though understanding that he was a lot younger than her and smaller despite entering the stage of his life where his growth was rapid, did not exactly appreciate being called 'little one'. it sounded too sugary and to the golden dahomey more than condescending even if it wasn't meant to be so. calling him 'little one', 'young one' or any other variation did not mean she was in charge — unfortunately for her that was exactly how scarab took it to be given his own discovery of dominance: a powerplay.

scarab's ears cup forward atop the proud crown of his skull at her question: where were his parents, was he not concerned about his safety, and something about herbs. this perplexes him more than anything else: what threat could plants possibly hold? before he can capitalize on that she asks another question: where was he from. did he not smell like rusalka who's borders there were a mere stone throw away from? instead of answering any of her questions scarab offers her a toothy grin that could've been charming if it hadn't been too candy sweet.

scarab. he replies with his own name after she gives her's. i wasn't worried. he tells her cheerfully at her assurance that she wasn't going to harm him. his confidence is little more than youthful purity coupling with arrogance and an ego much too big for scarab's still growing body to contain. for better or for worse, being as sheltered as he was and belonging to a pack like rusalka where members leave and join as thoroughly as leadership changes leaves scarab with no experience of caution around strangers.