Spotted Eagle Mountain evermore

Taut; rigid.

Evident by unyielding posture, his mark had struck - she quiered, then backtracked, statement pouring from her lips. "Yes," returned the voice of smoked baritones, a luminiferous stare peering back in muted curiousity to the features of this enigma; of his blood she was, but from who? Names sprung to mind, but it contained a plethora - some fit, others not, but he was scarcely closer to his answer. The only woman of his bloodline he thought likely to bear young would have been Cassiopeia, unless the bastard half-brother had clutched the teekon like a weed to rear his spawn. Unlikely, he mused. 

"Your mother. Cassiopeia?" A bold assumption, an educated guess - though perhaps luck might favour him tonight.