Chimera Fields crawl

she speaks! even that simple sound catches in zharille's ears and makes her wonder. she does not know the word, and deeper down does not know the role, as the feeling of motherhood had never taken root inside of her. she hears the accented tone of the woman before her and is reminded of the sand people; of the man who brought their wrath to the lake and to khaba.

racharra— she rumbles in reply, and while the name itself is beautiful she bludgeons it by mistake. a frown pulls at the corners of her face. she stiffens and spikes, appearing unsettled by something; if only she had some way to say what was on her mind! she could try and she knew that would make her look like a fool; was it worth the effort?

a grimace takes up residence instead. she pulls away from the woman, tries to shake the unsettled energy from her shoulder furs. when again she looks to racharra it is with a mixture of disdain and frustration—but most of that was for herself.

racharra of desert, not of lake. why? tension winds through her body and the distance between them grows.