Ouroboros Spine vi. two hands longing

Aiwëndil's diadem of caribou-pelt taupe swiveled in the opposite direction, ears fluttering indecisively as if uncertain whether to pin to her skull or perk attentively as more colorful expletives flew from the man's tongue. She'd gathered by now that another hunter must have angered this one with the pelt of earth and stone, fighting back the makings of an amused smile despite the nervousness quickening her heart rate. 

"Excuse me," she dares to call out softly at last, curling in on herself ever so slightly -- not unlike the shy petals of a blossom curling inwards. "But um...what are you talking about?" her voice hedges, hoping he won't be angered by her questioning.