Porcupine Ridge a magical people

He had been right in his deductions that she was not alone, but his further assumption that this was her land was rebuffed by her answer. A small bobbing of his head came with his understanding. She mentioned a willow forest and his bobbing stopped, although there remained a ponderous expression on his face. Scintilla couldn't recall having passed anything of the sort - yet it must have been nearby, or she would not be here.

Her question made the corners of his mouth twitch. There was a sleepiness to his expression then, a dulling of his eyes, but only for half a heartbeat. I am—my name is Scintilla, he answered.

I come from a family of nomads, he admitted to her, unsure as to why he would bring up the sore subject. Something about this woman's presence softened him enough to indulge the both of them with such nostalgia. He did not speak further on that, though.

What sort of place is it? Your willows? Here, he reclined to sit carefully — pantherine, sculpted, with his rugged silver shoulders trying to release their natural tension.