Wheeling Gull Isle not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice

priixu offers the other girl, moorhen or moor, a soft smile and a soft wag of her tail. "nice to meet you, moor." she says sincerely. growing up prii hadn't had many friends ...her training to be atlanian was secluded and often times lonely. the warrior priests were more or less hermits and that life had always seemed dull to the adventurer in prii. "to stay," she says very decidedly, only to temper her enthusiasm a bit. "if i'm welcome, of course." she adds sheepishly. just because her father been welcomed once upon a time doesn't necessarily mean the same courtesy will be extended to her. she wasn't her father.

but it was a common enough mistake to make at first glance that she doesn't at all hold it against the pretty, ink coated woman that approached, the beginning of his name falling from her lips only to be cut off by surprise as far as prii can tell. the woman is trailed by a pup who looks at her with owlish eyes. prii offers her a soft, warm smile but is hesitant to address her, unsure of how it might be taken. she might look like her father but she's a stranger to these wolves. "hello," she offers the ink dappled woman with a respectful dip of her head as she catches the name. coelacanth. "priixu corten. prii," she offers her own name and the nickname she most prefers. "axolotl is my father." she explains her physical resemblance to him. "he speaks highly of you." she tells the ink dappled woman. "well, y'know, when he speaks of things other than atlan." she says it as a slight jest but also seriousness and winces because she knows better than to make fun at atlan or her father's expense. alas, it was true. getting stories and information out of him about his time in these wilds was like trying to pull an alligator's tooth: strenuous and potentially dangerous.