Shadewood chaos lives in everything

To her first question his head would lower, to linger between his legs as those devilishly pointed ears folded downward. A sheepish expression, a silent yes for her. She did not falter away nor did she rush upon him out in aggression. Maybe she was proud and happy to have someone curious by what she had created other then to fear or hate or scorn it out of such.

She continues on, her voice airy, a single-song voice who's sentences flowed like melody. She was smooth too, a molten silver and gray parts from an otherwise off-white shade, like the moon which glowed above. Had her fur not been so plush by her Arctic blood he could have noticed her thinner form. All of more a reason for him to desire to steal her away, to take her back to the valley surrounded by mountains in which he lived.

For, if she were a witch, if she were a believer of the Gods, he craved her. Not in a sexual manner, no. In fact, he could not recall ever feeling that. Another piece of him he assumed broken like much else. She reminded him of his lost family. The only family he had ever- his mother, whom was a priestess in her time, who was a beautiful white Arctic and whom had fallen from grace.

Both... Comes the whisper of deep vocals, a stark difference to her tone just like the stark difference in their coating. To whom you pray? He asks then, his curiosity further obvious. If she were a woman of faith and belief, what of?