Redsand Canyon that was still learning the alphabet

praimfaya's ears cup forth, frostbound gaze narrowing in soft seeking suspicion as renard pushes; fingers testing the chainmail and leather of praimfaya's armor for point of weakness. though for what, the wanheda doesn't pretend to know. was it for their own gain? to turn on her? or to side with her? or was it for the simple enjoyment of it? in the end, renard's purpose matters little. in a pack full of cutthroats, praimfaya knows better than to trust. she reveals enough about herself, about her situation to make it appear as trust. the fact that renard and hela know about sagtannet, that she has made no qualms about hiding her displeasure of the saints presence in the sunspire was an irritating weakness and slip on her part.

a mistake fixable and not to be made again.

make no mistake, praimfaya draws her salmon pink tongue across her jowls, chin lifting as she regards the blade. i will do what needs to be done. she tells them, tone making it clear that she wishes to speak no more of it; though she has not given an answer either way and continue to balance as she always had: on the tip of the blade.