Firefly Ravine borðaðu rassinn minn

Her perception of the other quickly grew calculating—the fiery woman crept close to her, invasive, and yet not entirely unfriendly. Meadow would not have deemed any of the Watch wolves as friendly in disposition, though Stjornuati was perhaps the closest.

The woman she had come to understand as blood relative to them—despite the vast difference among all their appearances—spoke in a succinct wisp, perhaps grasping the common tongue more easily than the others. “Yes,” she agreed, completely missing the hint of implication that having something in common could lead to other… events. The shenanigans of the Watch wolves had been lost on the silver arrow. “I can learn a lot from him.”

Before she could continue—it was the dripping poison of the flame’s words that drew her eyes to narrow again, though it was a flash of confusion on her features when the casual words did not quite meet the tone used.

Her trust was plummeting.

“I am learning, yes,” she continued, pausing then, as if waiting for the other ball to drop.