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There was a moment where a very real part of Aurèle sought to draw back from the embrace. She was not a physical, emotional being, and Tayui was much the opposite. She had always been like that; her funny sister that pretended she could see ghosts. This, to Aurèle, was less of a crime then her brother’s stupidity. Bart had been her punching bag as a child, and had she encountered him as an adult, nothing much would have changed. For whatever else she was, Aurèle was a creature of habit. This was why she returned to this familiar place and not those she had found along the way.
The pale woman shook her head lightly, politely refusing the offer. She and Anatole would be more then enough to clean out a den that needed much expansion. Perhaps later in the spring she would take that offer up, but for now there was much more to deal with. Both of her eyes darkened and twinkled impishly. “North,” she explained, motioning with her head. “I went over the mountains near the coyote territory. The land up there is magané.” A fire had struck it. Of this, she had no doubt. “It’s healing now, but you can smell boucane still.” Her voice fell in and out of their language, something that she did without realizing it.
