Wheeling Gull Isle because I am not going your way

besides the three-legged boy, she has remained, until now, unaccosted. and so when the woman presses into her solitude, her hackles flare, lips curling even while she does not shift. thirst has been wetted by the stream she'd managed to position herself besides, but hunger is a blade against her stomach and her entire body throbs with pain. at the very least, her blinding headache has faded to a dull ache. 

"leave." she rumbles, molten gaze finding the woman's own in a display of simple aggression she's entirely unable to back.