Emberwood Living in a wasteland

Another man, this time stonewrought; goldfinished. Marina was no more impressed by his arrival than the last. She searched for the sparkle of good humor in his eyes and found them flat; she looked for the pleasant lines of a storyteller around his mouth, and her own lips only tightened. What could she possibly want with him?

She took a step closer at his call, looking him over only once. You belong to a pack, Marina pointed out blandly, as if continuing a round of perfunctory small talk. If he took it as his cue to leave, she wouldn't stop him, but there was a faint stirring of curiosity behind her dark eyes. Perhaps she'd been alone too long.