Hoshor Plains Can't be sure when they've hit their mark

Dreven winced when he spoke, this much she'd begun to notice. For in all her antics, she was watchful as a hawk, studying, devouring. 

Hating everything is a shitty way to live. I hate most things, find em' dreeeeadfully boring—but I lovelovelove certain things- I'm a healer, cause I find it fun. She grins and draws her tongue over her jaws, lingering on the sharp little fangs residing within before her lips fell back to conceal them once more.

...So If you hate everything, then you hated sitting there doing nothin' before just as much as you hate sitting here talking ta' me now, so I hope I'm not wrong when I say I think it's fine.—Hey, it sounds like it hurts for you to talk. No wonder ya don' like it. Y'ever tried anythin' that would help?

She'd chatter on and on, rising again, for her reclination could only last so long before pearly forepaws longed to traipse the ground again. The jitters got her once more, and she failed to sit still. This too, served as a way for her to scout out his physique, ogle any other maims he'd gathered in his life. He was a challenge, and she loved challenges. Perhaps she'd make it a goal of hers to find some way to mend that throat of his... he seemed like he needed much mending, for even the few words that dropped from those darkened jaws sang the song of a husk... resigned.

Resignation was for the dead, and as long as any drew breath, she'd make it her goal to mend and fix.

....And I am not stupid, thank you very much. She remarked with an affirmative huff, her chin raised to the air.