Sun Mote Copse Take Yourself Home part.II

"That boy," She hummed to herself tunelessly, a proud smile softening her features. She chuckled, having noted the slight but intentional waver of vibrato in her son's panflute howl, impressed with how he endeavoured- and succeeded- in making just about everything he did so beautiful. She was certain it wasn't simply her natural bias leading her to believe such things- though she did have a tendency to believe that her children (from this year, at least) could do no wrong. 

However, she might rescind that thought as she found herself staring through the trees to take note of the stranger who strode alongside her peach lovebird of a son. While the male bore the scent of the other Kingslend wolves, she was relieved to note that she did not recognize him as being one of the ones she'd met in the Grove- as they had all failed to impress her. Save for the lad with the beige ruff, but his attitude had been enough to sour any attraction she'd temporarily felt for him. This male had a demure look to his gaze, which- unlike several of his packmates- wasn't the same, fiery hue of poppy red- but instead a sagacious orange. 

In his presence, she noted, her son looked as fit as a fiddle, flawlessly spritelike as per usual, so she forced herself not to jump to the conclusion that simply because he was of Kingslend that he intended harm. Still, she bristled as she approached with a stiff, brisk walk and a sharpness to her gaze that was tempered only when she cast a glance toward her son. She was wary of making any sudden movements, lest the stranger have the motivation to take advantage of his proximity to the youngster to make a plea for power. She could feel something like a crackle of electricity course through her veins as she sought to keep her paranoia and over-protectiveness at bay; a mammoth-sized effort, but one she would willingly oblige in order to avoid traumatizing her son. 

"Prim," She crooned softly, approaching her child first- and intentionally yet gracefully placing herself at an angle so that she could intercept Cenric should he move one inch closer to her son. Her piercing gaze lifted to the masked male, a silent warning in the tighness of her lips. She paused, as she composed herself. This wasn't the Plateau. This was the Copse. They were civil with strangers. Part of her longed for the simplicity of barreling toward all strangers and chasing them out without asking questions; but she could play nice and obey the rules here. She was willing to give the stranger one chance.

"I've already met the King of Kingsland," She said, her voice low and even. "So I'm assuming you are its Queen," She said, and licked her lips.