Mount Apikuni one: entrance

she holds his name in her mouth like some fragile shaking thing, his body trembling in the snow, and oh, it has been long since another spoke with him. a not-angel named rheia, a not-angel who might not speak his language. figures the first lovely creature he'd run across is neither here to kill him or to converse with him -- even if this is a type of communication, he has to admit.

"i was hopin'," the wretched wolfdog says with the casual air of one discussing the weather, "you were comin' to kill me dead." she probably won't understand him anyway; their language barrier makes it feel easier to be loose with his tongue. a little of the rust comes off his voice the more he talks. her question warrants a sideways glance and a wry, slow smile. home? "ain't got any home," worms says with a shake of the head, following her frantic glances his own. nothing but snow and wasted time around them, but hell, he hasn't got anything to lose, passing the time with her.