Hideaway Strath gypsy girl, where have you been

Silver coins of blank observation continued to bore into the shadow as she approached, wondering what exactly she wanted -- more intel on her own packmates or one to use as a punching bag maybe. Whatever her motivations, Aerin didn't trust her. Still, she merely watched as the inky femme slunk closer on sheepish steps -- the healer's auds of pale wisps piquing with curiosity when she drank in the subtle body language of submission she was offered. It was not blatant but a slave knew submission like the second skin of a favorite pullover or the worn cover of a treasured paperback in one's hand. 

She must have been more suited to the Saints than she knew, perhaps finding her place amongst them with more ease than she could have imagined, because as unaccustomed as she was to seeing another show her due respect (okay, so, they had kicked each other's asses but they both knew Whrist had been in the wrong) -- the gentle sylph found that she liked it. 

At Nyra's bequest, the midwife silently fell into step with the alabaster Amazon and the smaller, darker woman who could have been her winter-eyed shadow. She said nothing as she trailed after them, expression held in careful neutrality just as her posture was. 

She stood facing the other two, slipping back into position much as Whrist had, when they reached their destination -- interest glinting in the steel sheen of her gaze as she waited for further instructions.