She didn't know the inner world of the D'Angelo's mind, and had no desire to delve further into it than he allowed her to see. Their worlds were different, and his breed left her apathetic — his mention of his handsome pelt making him wrong, however, intrigued her. What world had he come from? What world marked another simply for coloration? Yes, her own world shunned the different, those of heavier build and lupus blood, but color seemed so trivial over genetics.
The smile she caught on his jaws surprised her, but as he spoke of his sister she realized what caused the sudden expression of faint joy. Family was important in her own culture, though she rejected her own sister for matters that would be deemed unfair by many, and she believed it was similar in every culture that family was a core importance to all. One small hand patted the Arbiter's shoulder, away from the still-bleeding mark, in a stiff gesture of false sympathy. "Family ess good. Aye wish maye own was in a better place." But no, instead it was in shambles. Baphomet had destroyed them, Astaroth had started to break them apart. Metetztli could do nothing, unable to produce his own heirs. Xochime was a slave. In the mind of the golden Crone, she was all that could save them — and save them she would. With this in mind, she returned to her job of cleaning and carving the wound, a determination showing on her face that rarely surface.
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