Frogspawn Swamp a grin made for war

no warpath mother appears, no stirrings in the swamp besides the squelch of her and the child's own paws in the muck and the occasional plop of a frog as it shifts position. though the question of 'what're you doing out here by yourself' dances chidingly upon praimfaya's tongue, born of some dormant maternal instincts that sigh to life as her frostbound gaze falls upon the girl; she bites it back. the girl, though parts of her pelage is covered in muck ( as is praimfaya's own ) is a myriad of soft golds and creams ...and utterly unafraid as praimfaya watches her seek refuge in a patch of moss and blatantly ask about her scars. a soft laugh churrs in the wanheda's throat.

the girl is young — how young praimfaya cannot accurately judge — but young enough that the commander doesn't want to be entirely truthful about the origins of her scars. i fought a dragon. praimfaya says leaning forward, voice lulling into a hush as if she was divulging some big secret. and these — she gestures to the killmarks on her left shoulder. are how many dragons i've fought. she shifts back then, careful to keep distance just in case a parent or guardian does come forth from the foggy muck.

pretty cool, right?