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Her brother, in every way an icon holy to his dark sister, deserved the recognition of a holy name, just as the monster Gabriel did. In a family that represented power, Gabriel was a keystone to hold a delicate bloodline in place. She believed Ezekiel would later be the same. Her brother was not meant for the same stress-filled life as their father, but Talitha was so sure that he would be the one to continue the name and blood that they were given. Her own poor experience with the prospect of procreation left her with doubts to her abilities of continuing their lineage.
"If you want, you can have that one." The words lifted her spirits, though she knew that a book she didn't understand was a bit of a waste; the determination to understand what was in the pages rushed through her mind, and she kept a mental note to force lessons from the coyote prince. The trip was made easy in the presence of Ezekiel, and she stepped into the den to shake snow from her fur. The bag was set against a stone wall, the bible left to rest against it while she studied the bow and quiver with careful fingers. Weaponry was almost entirely foreign to the maturing female, though she had seen well-worn blades over the summer with Myron and the bow itself was not something strange. Still, she wondered how Tristan had learned to use one so well; if he taught Ezekiel, he must have known quite a bit.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she should have stayed. The pseudo-family she had known in her youth seemed to have done well for the brother she had been separated from. He could hunt, he could read. She had returned to Inferni, and she was left with little in the way of practical skills. The past was the past, but it was not something that she had put aside; regret still plastered itself across mirrors of her history.
While Ezekiel talked about starting a fire and cooking, Talitha wasn't paying attention. Her ears twitched, fingers studying the weapon before setting both it and the ammunition on the ground. She turned toward her brother, crossing her arms beneath the vaguely visible ribcage she sported. "Do you mind if I...talk to you. About something sort of silly." The words were strange, uncomfortable even, on her tongue. It wasn't like the de le Poer princess to desire any sort of personal release. Her opinions and thoughts usually remained buried in her chest, and it was startling to the woman herself that she sought to talk to her brother about anything personal.
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