Blackfeather Woods and I bleed when I fall down

the reason is sound enough; though a bit curious as it is azreina's general assumption that to think that there wasn't wolves — lone mostly but pack wolves on missions, too — wandering about seems a bit presumptuous. not that azreina is innocent of that. indeed, these woods are dark, dank and there is a certain ...aura that hangs over the spindly branches that azreina finds almost cloying. nevertheless, it is not moonspear and thus as good as any other place she has sought shelter on the run.

though, outrunning who she was, everything she fought for, the ones she loved so very fiercely and mourn like a planet mourns the death of its star was likely futile. still, she doesn't stop moving. she tries.

so, come here often?

azreina hasn't answered the other's initial observation; simply accepts it as it was but at the questions considers it with a small tilt of her head.

it sounds like the kind of question a guy might ask a girl at the bar, sitting by her lonesome, nursing her rum and coke.

no. azreina responds honestly. this is her first time, she is fairly sure, stepping foot in these woods. she feels like she should say something else; like her answer had been too vague. i'm just passing through. she isn't so sure she wants to entrust her secrets to a stranger and so covets them close to her chest.