Bitterroot Valley [m] mourning dove

in a matter of mere minutes, veksar's illusion gets cracked and he's thrust back into reality: that being the fact that he was a stranger here. he raised a lip intending to speak to the figure that approached him, but couldn't find it within himself before she spoke first. she was imposing enough on her own —

until he saw who was behind her.

i could ask the same to you, blackfell, he couldn't believe it. he raised his shoulders, gargoyle-like face now wrinkled up with a contempt that could only be shared for one's own kinfolk. he couldn't bite down the dismay if he tried. and who's this with you, huh? a new girlfriend? getting a little old for that.