When she had been a child, Salvia had known little of the golden coyote—he was related to her through her mother, but his sordid past and treachery were unknown to her. If they had been, she would have objected boldly to his position as hand of the Boss. Sirius had seen it in his power to remove the man from his rank, though the reasons for such a thing were not her business. She had caught glimpses of a wispy, strange woman and given her little heed. Salvia had more important things to deal with then the faults of love.
Now, though, she regarded him with the same cautious and interest as a cat studying a snake. Green eyes trailed over to his form, to the fallen prince. He looked like he did not belong here; if not for that peculiar coldness in his eyes, the stillness in his voice and in his form. It was truly opposite of what she herself was, and thus rubbed at odds with Saliva’s nature.
“Itachi,” she replied, though did not move to meet him. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, loose and shaggy with winter’s weight. “Come to see your horse?” By assuming her father’s role as Ganadera she assumed responsibility for all animals. Itachi’s mare was no different.
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