Neverwinter Forest hurting. longing. dancing to disco music.

Lótë felt her ears flicker of their own accord -- half lifting alertly as her heart pounded to life, and half falling, as if they wished to lower in the face of her uncertainty. Words sprung to mind, strings of them that remained half completed and unfinished. In the end, she couldn't settle for what she wished to say. 

The herd-stalker dipped her head low, blinking curiously as she held herself in silence and agitated anticipation. It was the posture of one who was ready to listen -- and wasn't entirely sure what they were about to hear or if they would like what was said. Possibilities circled in her head like buzzards about a kill.