Qeya River LXIX

while the silence was at first unnerving and perhaps irritating, wren did not send him away just yet. he bows to her, and the frantic, high-pitched whines ring in her ears; a man would not have stumbled onto her turf just to perform such a display without reason, and so she lingers, tries her best to decipher what it is that brought him here.
she shuffles forward with her own display, teeth jutting out just slightly from between raised lips, posture stiff and tall as if she were carved from the ice that surrounded her home. she chuffs as if to accept his submission, his wildness.
he invites her close and she accepts this, pressing her nose unabashedly into the silver-caped ruff of his neck. there is only one place he could have come from, she realizes; the rise.
she had thought them to be much tougher than this. this must be urgent, then, she decides.
pulling back, the prima meets his gaze with a newfound softness to her typically sour face. what do you need? lead me there, and i'll call my wife.