Honeyed Pasture one false prayer wielding blasphemy

He seemed irritated by her demand or her questions, she wasn't sure. And her heart did pick up a little at the curl of his lip. She had no idea how he would react if she continued to poke at him for conversation. Still, she continued anyway. 

But when he spoke, she rolled her eyes at his answer, although she couldn't say she was all that surprised that he hadn't really answered any of her questions. The tone of his unknown word was easily interpreted, and it had its desired effect; Simmik's temper flared, and she glared at him, the anger reflected in the fiery orange of her own gaze. She stiffened but stayed where she was. Is that the way you treat someone who helps you? she asked, her tone irritated. I offered you the damn thing, too, you could at least answer my questions—maybe introduce yourself. Maybe that was asking too much of him; he seemed kind of feral, like he had been on his own for a long time. She might have considered an offer to join her pack for the winter if he hadn't been so strange and rude. He'd probably dismiss it anyway,