Sea Lion Shores and a voice cut from steel

on that i can't argue, praimfaya acquiesces with a low hum in her throat, wincing minutely as the vibrations along the column of her throat tug at the mending flesh wounds. ripa definitely sounds cool. in her totally biased opinion trigedasleng had a lot of cool sounding words. she wished more wolves in the wilds spoke it and tried to imagine the time of her mother when many did. this thought brings with it a blossoming of loneliness that praimfaya does her best to stifle. it would not be this way, forever, she tells herself. someday she would have children and she would teach the trigedasleng and their culture and her children would teach their children —

it would continue.

she would make sure of it.

astaroth. she tests his name, feeling how it rolls off of her tongue. smoother than any trig name she'd ever uttered, smoother even than ripa. where are you from, if you don't mind me asking? she inquires conversationally, figuring out now that they were both of a right mind it wouldn't hurt to actually get to know one another.