Wrena
she sucks the blood of the slain,
& the wolf tears men; would you know yet more?
Never has she ever…interacted with a man. Young or old, any type, she’s never come across them personally…or ever wanted to. At her mother’s hip she’s only ever spoken to women, her aunts and sister, never the boys or men (though few in Nerine, there were some). This realization floods her senses for a second or two but her external doesn’t betray it. She leans in recoil to his brazen reach, but watches him pluck the leaf politely from her scaled wing. Her lip threatens to curl as if she’s disgusted, but it only twitches in place while her eyes roll with his movement. She nods at his poke at her escaping rain to find rain still, tilting her head back to look up to the pearly clouds rolling low above them. “Yeah…” same quiet tone as before.
“I’ll try anything once.” The embers of her burnt orange eyes catch the light of his and harden, unblinking. “So far I am not loving it.” She shivers, which makes her eyes flutter and she blinks rapidly. “Nerine…it’s much warmer.” Her voice is gaining its typical syrup notes the more she speaks, her vision steadying on his face, taking what she can from his painted cover.