12-26-2008, 01:47 PM
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500+ He responded with silence. His body language did not acknowledge her words. The woad banded ears were erected listening for his response, but they were greeted with nothing. She felt a mild irritation itching at the back of her mind, but she held it in check, remaining calm and seemingly unperturbed. Cwmfen rarely ever got angry—it had been so long since she had lost her temper that she no longer knew the consequences of such a loss of control. It was always said that the quiet ones were the most dangerous.... But she did not think that this creature would cause her to lose her temper. He may have been many undesirable things in her mind at the moment, but she did not believe that he could push her that far. And so she persistently stood there, unmoving and lithic, unwilling to allow this perpetrator to leave. At length, he finally spoke. Cwmfen’s hackles bristled when he did not turn to confront her, but she remained where she was. The pied Raven, as if sensing her disapproval, cawed and croaked deeply several times before falling silent. The black female did not once believe that Cercelee or Haku would have hired a mapmaker—though she considered the scenario as useful, perhaps—but the fae decided to humor the grey hued male. She noted his accent and handle of words. He knew enough vocabulary for her to assess that he was very familiar with the language, but he did not regard its grammatical structure. The female was also able to identify his accent to be Russian, as there had been encounters with Russians when she had first set out those years ago. She had never really learned the language, although she found its sound pleasant. And even now, with this disregarding male, she could not help but like those Slavic melodies. “Zdravstvujtye,” she tested. This one greeting was pronounced clearly, and it was passable for native Russian. But she did not know anything else of the language. She was merely confirming that the mapmaker was, indeed, a Russian. Her curiosity seemed to precede her aggression. Cwmfen ignored his first comment and responded to the next. “These lands are called Dahlia de Mai, and I am Cwmfen nic Graine.” The woad-marked female clearly let her displeasure be heard, but she had still showed no sign of aggression. She wondered, then, why this male was so content at keeping his back to her. Did they not teach respect—at least on a personal level—in his country? Cwmfen, who tended to show much respect—a quality from her Korean heritage, perhaps—found his lack there of to be disturbing. “If you will not share your name with me, I will not push for it.” The soft lilt was quiet. “However, I still require that you explain yourself.” The woad-marked female was determined to figure this one out. It was clearly seen that the grey male was drawing some sort of map, but that was not what she was referring to. What made him think that he could waltz into these lands—or any lands—uninvited. There was a reason for such boarders, and such reasons surpassed a male’s mere need to urinate upon the dirt.  |