Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Aitana’s grin softened into something closer to a thoughtful smirk as the stranger woman continued. There was conviction in her voice, the kind of devotion Aitana herself had abandoned long ago. It was admirable, in a way. Foolish, maybe, but admirable nonetheless.

When the question came, Aitana’s grin returned, this time tinged with mischief. “I didn’t,” she admitted with a shrug, her amber eyes glinting with amusement. “But curses tend to sound a little… angrier, don’t you think? And nonsensical babbling usually doesn't go anywhere.”

She took a step closer, her movements fluid and unhurried, as if testing the waters of how far she could push.

“Besides, whatever you were saying sounds like it mattered.” Her gaze narrowed slightly, her voice dipping into something softer, almost thoughtful. “That’s the kind of thing you don’t fake.”

As if scorned by her own random show of sentiment, she coughed. Awkwardly.

“Sooo,” she kicked leaf litter about with her paw.