Cerulean Cape I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

To his observation, she had no argument to give. Show Wylla a wolf who had endured life the way she had and was not so, and she would proclaim them false of heart. But Ramesses knew nothing of her life or that her bitterness was well earned, and she wasn't about to speak of it to him. It was past time to return to her own privacy. She could not bear to bare her damaged heart to the world any longer, much less another blasted man. Protecting herself was a necessity, now.

Nothing to say about the water, either, merely a mental start at how accurate his claim was. She hadn't realized she'd been doing that, and more importantly, she hadn't realized that more than one thought about whether drowning was a kinder feeling than going hungry for another afternoon had drifted across her distant mind while she did so.

Her gaze drifted to the island. She made a short sound in her throat. Bold of you to think I'm alone, said Wylla, fixing him in her sight again, or that I want to indebt myself to some... Empress. What a lofty title. Another arrogant young wolf toting around their self-importance, she imagined incorrectly. Maybe I will take that island for myself.

She would do no such thing, but she would have to investigate this Empress for herself and determine whether living under another's stifling pride (for already she was drawing unfair conclusions about the nature of the island wolves) was more tolerable than going hungry, for both her and Stag.