The Bracken Woods you could trample upon,

and you would be an expert on what most wolves hate or do not hate? praimfaya returns; a terse flick of her ear given. the stranger’s attempt to rectify her prior assumption was …weak, as far as the commander cared to see. perhaps that held true for the ebony pelaged woman before her but praimfaya wasn’t running from anything. this was the easiest way back into these wilds from where i came from. not that she owed anyone any sort of explanation. thorns or no thorns. anything else would’ve required extra days of travel upon the days of travel that already awaited her.

are you? the commander asks, another curl of her lip given.

a name was given, filed and tucked away. whrist. a strange name, to praimfaya. then again, her own name and any other variations were strange to plenty of others. she could go thru plenty of meetings not giving her own name and isn’t sure why this woman was so hellbent on making ‘friends’ with her when praimfaya, clearly, wasn’t in the mood. there was something upon the woman’s scent that nags at the back of praimfaya’s brain; something that strikes her as familiar but washed out enough that praimfaya could not immediately place it.

blodreina, her mother’s name rolls off her tongue without a bat of an eye; figuring that her mother wouldn’t mind her borrowing it. it was nothing more than a needling nag that bid her give her mother's name; nothing solid or concrete to back the smallest, whispering suspicion. nevertheless, something felt off about this strange interaction whether there was basis of truth in the feeling or not. blodreina eyjolfur. a soft sigh of exasperation given; travel weary.