Sea Lion Shores canopic

she allowed herself to drop some of her suspicion, though she remained no less guarded. the lack of gratitude, the arrogance of tone, the presumptuous notion that she might share her troubles with a stranger, a male— these things were irritating, but not unexpected. she accepted it with the sort of patience that a mother might accept a babe pushing and learning her boundaries. he was harmless, as much as she could gather. in this state, she doubted he would risk a physical altercation.

you're welcome, she told him, dry, as she licked the last of the white meat and salty scale from her lips.

aeglaeca considered his offer, then, sitting in intentional silence as she groomed her paws. if he wanted poetry— only ghosts. but this was the truth, still. if she allowed her mind to stray for too long, she could still feel the bones break in her jaws, the metallic taste of blood running down her throat, making her sick. she swallowed, eyes steely as they rested back upon him: and ghosts are of no consequence. firmly stated. there would be no more talk of this.

and you? she queried, gentler. it would appear that this world has troubled you. bad luck in these lands?