Greatwater Lake No peace for the wicked

The desert, south. She motions as she mentions it, a far-flung place across the region which held no bearing here, really; seemingly out of place. Lake is their's, now. What did that make her? Vassal, according to contract. Caretaker maybe—but Zharille had never taken care of anything except her own wants and needs, and was not inclined to a life of servitude. Beholden to no-one and nothing. Neither kingdom nor family.

She does not press the matter. Her words are to inform, and she seems disinterested in the topic even as the word desert crumbles from her lips.

The beast began to turn away. This man was no threat to her, only a threat to the lake and it's owners if he decided it was to his liking. With that in mind, Zharille was less and less interested in driving him off. It was too good a place for those desert dogs, so she wouldn't stop the stranger if he wanted to linger a while.