Swiftcurrent Creek disappointed people clinging onto bottles

Eshe pretends as if Wren's comment about Akavir is nothing, brushes it off of her shoulder; but eyes are the window to the soul, and if the creekwoman knew anything, it was the classic signs of jealousy and heartache. She saw this within those honey-brown saucers. Some twisted part of her got a sense of satisfaction. She wanted to be Akavir's main girl — not for the sake of sheer power, just the knowledge that he approved of her. That he wanted her. That she held influence, a voice, a safety net for him to come home to. That within his eyes, she was pretty and strong and smart and worthy, that he would tell her this even when she herself didn't believe it.
But these were not things she would say.
With a low chuff, she presses her nose to the earth in thought, before raising her muzzle to motion Eshe in a direction. There were tracks, traces from some animal nestled between two overhanging oaks that she now weaves through with a flag of her tail. I smell something. We'll find out what it is, eh?