Redsand Canyon the lady who played hide-and-seek with death

Her head cocked, eyes flashing with something like kinship as they flickered up to him. 

It was not fear but respect; she was not such a fool as to hold herself above those that had built her. 

She was well aware that her selective mutism irked some of the Canyon's occupants, curiously, but even she was in the dark as to why it had manifested. But a safe bet was the circumstances that led her to join the Saints - try as she might to deny it, the ordeal had effected her. It was the mere subconscious attempt of her mind trying to protect itself. 

"Tell me about yourself." 

"I do nae fear anything anymore," the sainte croaked, voice hoarse with misuse. Her chin lifted a fraction as she said it, pride evident in the gunmetal of her gaze. 

Then, her brow furrowed and the pale moons dropped once more as if even she didn't know who she was beyond that. 

"I like...birds," she told him. "An' snow." 

"I like rum," she admitted with a tiny shrug, ears perking as she glanced to him to gauge a reaction. What could she tell him, really? Not the tragic tales of lives past. 

"I like ta dig...an' garden - I am a 'ealer an' 'erbologist," she revealed. "But my passion is children," and here a sweet smile crossed her lips, "I am a midvife an' milkmother foremost."

"I do nae like people. Or ze dark. I vant ta be strong, a varrior," the tiny wyvern declared, a determination so fierce it sounded almost desperate coloring her octaves. 

"I vas calle' Awenfen. I vill come up vith me own name.. eventually. But ye might call me Fen fer now, if'n ye'd like," she offered with a slight, yet kind smile. 

Her moonlight optics lingered on him a beat, regarding him thoughtfully. "Ye vere zere," she stated suddenly as the realization struck her. 

I remember you, the beaming grin she sent his way seemed to say.