Word Count→417 ::
She was surprised even by her own attitude toward the situation. There she was, lost and possibly in danger, laughing at a man who was so much larger than herself and clearly not a coyote in any way, shape or form. If he were a more prideful man, or more cruel, she was sure she'd be dead for reasons other than the chill. It was strange that he wasn't, though. In her eyes, all wolves were Haku Soul. In her crimson, Massacre eyes, all wolves were abominations who deserved to be culled. Deserved to be burned, like the wolves of the old home had been.
Caillen was so sweet, though, without judgments made toward Inferni since he didn't know that's where she hailed from. Should she tell him? Ruin the illusion so early on in his company? That she was bad, or evil, or horrid, or deserved to die for crimes made by blood relatives. The fae took a deep breath, exhaling a puff of white smoke and settling into his arm comfortably. It was almost like Ezekiel, but bulkier; she felt safer for it.
"Talitha." Her name rolled off of his tongue in accented speech, and a pleasant quiver rolled through her spine. It was different. Cotl had an accent, but it was angry and vicious, not like this boy's voice. Her ears swiveled toward him, eyes following the line that separated the white underside of his face to the mottled slate and tans that covered the rest of him. His voice flowed to her attentions, lifting her spirits with each new turn in the words. He was company, far better than anything she could have found in Inferni. He was neutral land. Neutral thought.
She could use him to start her world over, even if it only happened in his presence.
A smile crossed her muzzle as his own expression turned somber. His question was valid, but it didn't really have an answer. What had she been doing, running away to the dangers of the mountains. "I had an accident, and I became restless," she replied, resting her russet-and-cream cheek against his shoulder. His fur provided ample cushion between her fairer bones and his muscled shoulder, like a comfortable pillow. A chuckle escaped her, but faded into nothing. "And you, dear prince? The mountains are dangerous; my father said so himself. Hasn't your pack told you?" She didn't think it possible that something so innocent lacked a pack. How would he take care of himself?
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