Ouroboros Spine the same [voice] that oft-times hath

the morilindë's attention is drawn to the woman who approaches from within the claim to greet — or intercept — him, noting that she is flamekissed; a mottled agouti of driftwood, sand, and flame. gaze is drawn, briefly but flits away just as quickly, to the scars upon her visage.

though lómëvása was fortunate enough that his fur regrew over the severed flesh and bone ...he knows that disfigurements — scars or otherwise — draws the eye. as if on par with his thoughts, his doelike tail gives a small twitch absent the elegance that the gesture should've carried.

humiliation and shame burns within him his chest; an eternal wildfire.

who you? the question sounds a bit clipped to him, but as common wasn't his birth tongue, he doesn't take any sort of offense to it.

i am called ze sun at dusk — if they were going for the literal translation. ❝lómëvása❞ he offers, then; in the consideration that the not-common translation of his name might be less of a mouthful. i am lómëvása.