Dragoncrest Cliffs the patron bird of the vore fetish

Mallaidh nods a little. There’s a lot Blixen doesn’t know and she debates whether or not it’s a good time to spill literally everything or if it will break her brain to absorb it all. She’s only been living as herself once against for a few short months and has hardly had to think about how she should act. Anxiety tends to warp her sensors but she’s able to fight them as who she is instead of trying to run away by being Furi.
 
“I don’t know,” she says, thinking about it. She’s used to responding to Furi, had seen herself as such for so long, and she’d likely continue if someone called her by the alias. There are wolves still in Drageda that know her as Furi and newer wolves that do not. “I think it would be good to, so everyone else does but, you know, I don’t mind when it’s just us,” she explains. Or with Artaax, even. They were a beastly trio, once upon a time. Mallaidh smiles at the thought.
 
As she fights with indecision, she tries to clear her throat and her thoughts at the same time. “You know, if it wasn’t obvious, I’m ready to be friends again. I wouldn’t have… come back, if I wasn’t. And, um, there’s a lot more I want to say, too, if you’ll listen. It can be whenever if you don’t want to now or anything,” she adds, laughing a little awkwardly to fill in place of silence.