Gyrfalcon's Keep red hill

the boy eats as if he hasn't had food in days, a week even. at least, that is what rusalka assumes and it twists in his stomach; an icy seep that heightens and feathers up his throat as the boy grabs his meal and skitters away, hackles raised and a growl lingering in his throat.

rusalka lowers his head, slightly; a small dip of his chin.

he wasn't going to hurt a child, nor did he have any intentions of taking the meat away nor berate him for stealing it.

the stark contrast of how he'd react if it was an adult was blindingly obvious and hypocritical but rusalka turns a blinded eye to it.

it's alright, rusalka offers in a low, quieted smoky exhale; reassuring. in a tone that he would take with one of his own children. you can eat. anything you want in the cache. rusalka gestures with a paw. it was nothing he couldn't replenish. i'm rusalka and this place is called hljóðrfell, he tells him unsure if the boy was going to listen but offering it all the same.

what's your name? still, he tries to reach past the wild of the lostboy and see if he can coax him into speaking something.