Frogspawn Swamp a grin made for war

the girl, whether she believes the tall tale of battling dragons or not, replies with enthusiasm that lifts praimfaya's soft smile. yeah, it was cool. she murmurs, just for the sake of it though there was nothing remotely cool about the conclave or nearly losing her life because of some crazy bitch who thought she owned the ravensblood. but, y'know, that was what made sagas enthralling: they often stretched the truth whether for fame or to protect young ears. almost. see these fresh scars? this one got away from me. praimfaya admits. if i see it again it won't be so lucky. she grins then, toothily; though the vow remains true at it's core.

the sound of approaching footfalls, heavy and belonging to an adult draws praimfaya to attention. she is hesitant, frostbound gaze splicing thru the fog in the direction of the emerging shadow unsure whether her position should be defensive to protect herself or the cub. surprise melts away the soft prickle of her hackles as arcturus?! bursts from betwixt her lips.

there is no use in hiding her shock at seeing him and at the fact that his scents do not smell like that of moonspear's ...but like the pack scents she can detect thru the muck on the cub's pelage. the warmth in the once beta of the spire is warm as it touches upon both meerkat and her — praimfaya, despite herself, feels her cheeks warm before she diverts her cool gaze to the cub. i'm praimfaya, by the way. but you can call me pri. she introduces before her gaze returns to arcturus. you're not with moonspear? she asks, hoping as it lingers between them that she didn't just ask the motherlode of insensitive questions.