Dawnlark Plains you're a poem of mystery,

his words were clearly not given lightly, without intention. throat, rough, as a simple 'no' came choking out from it, as if wrapped in thorns. part of the girl, perhaps naive, found herself ever curious. as she was with everything. all within the world was something to learn, something to see, and so she would include this man. he seemed polite enough...

'pretty girl'? browbone raised for a beat, as if unused to such a saying, but rala would answer in quick confidence: i travel south in search of a place to start a family, the words, honest, gliding from her lips with purpose. intent. she knew where she was within the world, and she knew what she wanted to deliver to it. though small, her stance was firm, as if even the harshest snowstorms could not throw her, could not topple her.

and you? why are you here? carefully, she would ebb closer.