Fairspell Meadow shed every skin that no longer fits

scarab's lapis lazuli gaze follows the gesture of her head as the woman invites him in to the rise she's motioned to. the prospect of resting his paws for a while sounds like heaven — amidst the other aches he has barely noticed that his paw pads have cracked and begun to bleed from the tireless traveling he's done. there is a part of him that warns him he should not be so trusting of strangers whose name he doesn't even know ...but he's in no condition to care. he offers a small nod of acceptance, snatching up his petrified sandpiper before trotting after her, mimicking her sphinx-like position across from her.

there is plenty of open space between them and gently he sets his crowning jewel betwixt his paws, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls once. scarab hesitates only briefly, unsure how much information about himself he should give. but ...what does it matter? for all he knew: his family perished in the tremors or the tsunami that followed; and if by some miracle they still lived for all they knew he was dead. the coast, he offers vaguely and then specifies a moment after rusalka. quietly.