Lost Creek Hollow the black hills, the colly

Silvertongue is a woman who seems to hold years of life within a young body. Unspoken secrets, something that bitters the taste of her tongue. The very way she speaks the name Crowfeather is sharp, jagged at the edges.
She feels the urge to offer a shoulder, but decides against it. Perhaps it wasn't her place to do so.
I'd love that, I think, she is eager for the prospect of a tour, a visible light igniting behind tired eyes. y'know, while I'm here. She follows with her own swift motion, towering with rawboned limbs that make her seem nearly double the size of the mottled girl. The sight of it brings a rush of rose to pale cheeks. You lead the way, bella donna.