the way that it shines may just dwindle with time

She witnessed the male smirk, and somewhere in the byzantine depth of her iniquitous eyes there came that flicker again; much in the same manner a tongue of flame would consume some scorch-blackened scoria. She did not offer her own smile; her countenance as black-ridden as it was, remained irresolute. She did, however, recognize the roots of the Jarl's name. She was, after-all, the last daughter of a wolf whom was very familiar with the old ways, gods included. 'Our way is the old way', Caiaphas recalled her father's words with a mixture of scorn and softness. She knew the word Jarl referenced a wolf of lyrical persuasion, however, had it had significance to her as a title of importance. She presumed by the manner in which he heightened his posture that it was some title of esteem. He sure looked important. She lowered her muzzle in deference though her brow furrowed briefly. "Poet, and warrior sent from the favored gods?" She licked her lips, the startling pink darting with serpentine movement across her little teeth. "You must lead an interesting life."