I feel your love

Up close, the maroon female was a little larger than Ptarmigan herself, but wore the awkward gangling frame of youth still. Hekate was therefore scarcely more than a child in the elder Endore's eyes, and that reality was only further emphasized when the strange wolf widened her weird eyes and innocently asked if she liked them.

“No,” she said rather bluntly, edging one forepaw toward the woods and away from Hekate in case the freak decided to do something rash or insane, like breathing fire at her. “They're weird,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. After a beat, she quietly added, “they told you that so you wouldn't feel like a freak, but that doesn't mean you aren't one. Eyes like that are unnatural. Did someone do something to one of them or what?”

She twitched her ears back, anticipating an unfavourable response. Some internal part of her was snickering, but Ptarmigan hadn't said it to be mean. She wasn't really much of a liar, and certainly not a very good one—she was sincere in her distaste, if nothing else. Whenever she did lie, it wasn't about important things, but about minor ones, such as her saying, “I know it,” even though she really didn't.