Wrena
she sucks the blood of the slain,
& the wolf tears men; would you know yet more?
Oh the many things she does not know would amaze her, they would beguile her. These things she does not know are just that though, a mystery to her, so she has no allowance to fret over them and let them conjure doubt within her mind. She watches him carefully, her jaw clenching and her muscles wound tight to ripple under her dapply bay pelt. When the scaled stallion mentions the water she turns to look toward it. It is hidden in shrubby, mist and marsh-weeds but you can hear the sea-birds calling from I and the hum it’s waves whispering on a gentle wind. She keeps her white ear bent to him as she looks out into the nothingness, toward the sea sounds. I bet it is. Her voice sizzles in her own mind but she turns back to his chocolate eyes with silence.
Hot springs? She shifts, a visible fidget as she lets the term familiarize itself within her arsenal of words, phrases and other things. She looks at the ground in a moment of frayed confidence and quickly recovers it with her glassy eyes of magma find him again. The glint of orange dances in ribbons across his opalescent face, catching his hungry eyes they stare at one another. She is a tall girl but she pales in comparison, her bones are finer, her frame thinner and her height dwarfs in his shadow.
“I wouldn’t know.” A smirk wants to crease the edges of her black lips, it presses to and leaves only a hint but she never lets it happen. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” If he is observant enough he will be able to see the amusement building behind her eyes, perhaps even able to read the change in her voice. She speaks clearly, but it flirts with being a mumble, something you have to want to hear otherwise it falls into the background like shuffling leaves in the wind.