Swiftcurrent Creek I know what I like and you're the only one of you

There was no confirmation that Constantine was even who Cerulean was talking about, but Wylla didn't need it. She'd already made the assumption and decided she didn't much care if she saw him again or not. She might've respected him, but that didn't necessarily mean the same as liking him.

And then she laughed again, this time a whole-hearted guffaw, because there was nothing more precious in life than watching some kind-hearted, well-meaning sprite like Ibis trying to sound serious while swearing. It wasn't even that she was young. Her age wasn't that noteworthy. It was that she seemed naive and empathetic and compassionate and it sounded just plain wrong when vulgar language crossed the lips of such delicate creatures. She didn't bother to clarify what she found so funny, leaving it up to Cerulean whether to feel offended or not by it all.

I never need help, she confidently replied when the laughter died. It was mostly true. Not as true as Wylla would've liked, but she preferred to believe she was solely in charge of everything that happened to her, and that was helped along with a healthy dose of suspicion. But thanks, anyway. Keep that spirit, hope no one fucks it up for you. Someone would definitely fuck it up for her. Ciao, Wylla said, chuckling still at the way the word "ass" had sounded coming from Cerulean.