calling

There in her room, she gestures for the nebet to settle upon her bed of furs and tugs free a pelt to sit opposite her. It is the umber stole that Toula had once insisted she take. Eset straightens it upon the floor, running her paw through the luxurious thickness of it before returning her a look. She observes the girl with a contended sigh, taking this moment to recognize all the rapid ways in which the past few months had changed the girl she knew.

“Perhaps… a prince sweet-tempered, amiable, attentive...” Eset draws in answer. A groom for Racharra, it seemed such a sudden thought. She did not want to see the girl wed until she’d found a true complement, well into her second or third year- or fourth or fifth!

“I think you need to be challenged, Racharra. You might walk all over a man who could not match your cleverness,” the coywolf’s brows quirk devilishly as she sinks a hand further into her furs.