Wolfbane is no enigma to her, no great puzzle: nor some riddle to be solved- he is simple a man whose wings stretch and hooves touch upon the ground. He stands and speaks, eyes her with deadly fixation and quietly she stares back.
Aware of the sensation from Dovev’s touch, from the closeness of how he holds her- but more so aware of the way Brazen responds and Briella huffs into her neck gently- a fondness for the girl. Though for a split second she breaks away if only to stay near Dagen, the brave boy- eager and impatient. Briella’s pale eyes locking onto Wolfbane as she opens her mouth, slow and soft: her voice feminine and bearing an accent far older than she was.
Briella spoke as if she had been born and numbered among the chamber. “I’m your Aunt.” she states clearly and purposefully. Her ears pinning back and the blonde waves floating idly on a breeze as she tilts her head.
To Vulgaris, she looks- the child with him a curiosity and et? She ruffles Dagen’s own hair, attempting to bring him closer to herself and even Dovev and Brazen- contented to whisper at the boy (“Sssh, he doesn’t know…”).
Once more beside Dovev she places herself without fear or hesitation- firmly on the ground and watching the older men with an impossible stony countenance that bore an expression of sheer observation and faint warmth.
To her father, Dovev, she reaches up- brushing his jaw and chuckling a moment as she lingers.
“Briella,” she pauses. “My name is Briella.”