Bramblepoint Make it after all

Lips pulled back to reveal teeth, a menacing smile that did not do much to comfort her, but truly, when had she ever felt comfort? She was not new to the lack of it, and therefore the grin did not shock nor phase her. She looked from his teeth back to his eyes. Listened to him speak, too. A low, drumming noise. Like an absent hum.

A supposed 'fact' was said, though part of her knew that if he was going to hurt her, she would be running for the horizon by now. A quick, nimble woman. Georgia remained quiet, the slightest flick of her tail suggesting an opinion on what he had said: he was probably right. And it was a pain to admit, but it was true.

Georgia, she drawled. The 'oh' sound elongated due to the curvature of her accent. 'n' yours? Slowly, now, she'd move somewhat closer to the log, forepaws finding place upon the rotting wood. Careful, not yet committed. A safe distance away, though not far enough away that she felt protected.

This was alright, though. He wasn't snapping, nor yelling, nor angered. He almost seemed bored. But even a bored mind was capable of many a thing. She held herself with weariness—and it was that weariness that let her survive.

She wasn't thriving by any means, but at least she was alive.