Otatso Wetlands mud masks

she gave a thoughtful nod of her head, then. rala - she did think her own name suited her, but was it because the name had been sculpted around her, or had she grown into it? was it a title that she wore like a second skin, or was it merely something to be addressed by? but at the introduction of her newest friend, she pushed the thought aside.

irene, snowwoman spoke the name with a quiet approval. it is yours, and you wear it well. it is a pleasure to properly meet you, irene, she would move, then, to engage in a quick formality ; to touch her nose to that of a new acquaintance, should she be permitted to. if not, no offense would be taken, and she would move to resume her seat.

irene, she said again, as if testing the weight of the word within her maw, feeling the way it was spoken, the way it spilt from her lips in her own accented way. how many others have you met, eh, from these lands? many? few? rala doubted that she was the first to have met the woman ahead of her ; curious of those that had come before her.