Silver Moraine deceiver says: you belong to me

he was putrid. everything about him made her want to hurl-run-fight. he paused near the pale man before rounding upon her, and her body cringed in anticipation of a blow that did not come.

give name, he demanded.

why should she reveal herself to him? why should she give him anything? despite the fact that her very life was on the line, she could not bring herself to take this seriously. his thick accent was not that of the common tongue and further still from german.

it was a stretch. if he knew, he'd surely wail upon her again — but he was already going to do that anyway, so she ventured a guess that he did not speak her father's tongue. arschloch, she said squarely. my name is ash.

this secret joy was hers and hers alone. now every time he called upon her he would be referring to himself, what she called him in her mind.