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RAMBLE BRAMBLE
The voice of greeting came from without not within, and Caspa froze as the tailor brushed past her. She shut her eyes briefly, gathering her wits, and swallowed a heavy lump in her throat. It was essential she remained as neutral in expression as usual: Strelein must never know how she had avoided him. If the awkwardness she felt now was ever revealed, her facade of dignity and unreachable tranquillity would be broken. And like all who rely on their false beliefs and dearly-held estimations of self as something they are not, Caspa would not dare to face the question that she might have other sides to her personality. Even when she played with the pups or invented tricks with Terra, she was ever serious, ever keeping the proper goal of a pilgrim in mind. The lean woman lifted her dark lids, but only slightly and barely distinguishable from the black-charcoal irises below as she bowed her arching muzzle in a sombre greeting to the Dauphin. She could not find the words to phrase an actual spoken one. She'd avoided this moment repeatedly, and now it was here it was as bad as she'd expected. She swallowed again, on the threshold her feet shuffled and shifted and her head turning aside a little, like a strange and lanky teenager wishing for an escape from the oblivious tailor's friendly mannerisms and words, and then her ears lifted a fraction beneath their plaits at the mention of Augustus. "He did. I am not sure which of us was more disappointed..." she muttered. "Thank you for accepting him though, Strelein. I found him wandering wounded and in need of a pack." She had done well to recruit the wandering outcast, she thought, but their first reunion had not been without sharpness. He was obviously a pack-wolf through and through, so surely anywhere was better than being a loner, but she wasn't sure if Augustus had been entirely happy with his new home. Not that she'd ever seen him acting anything other than bitter about old memories and losses. She sighed, knowing that she could do no more for him than she had. She knew he had a good heart, but it had taken a long time to show through the rough edges. If the other Courtiers were not as patient as she, he would find no friends here.
But she had not come to discuss the Court's newest recruit, although if Strelein had accepted him, it would certainly be interesting to know how the wolf had behaved himself on the borders. If he comported himself badly, would it reflect on her? She doubted it very much, though. In some ways, despite their encounter on the reserve fence and her charitable instincts towards him they were still barely more than strangers, and had disagreed about more things than they found in common. It was a pity she could not find it in herself to be more pleasant around him, as she could appreciate the potential of the unlucky wolf. The situation was not dissimilar to hers and Strelein's lack of bond, for Caspa had thrown as many spokes in that as she could, not short of simply turning and walking out on him in the middle of a sewing session. She admired the suave male in myriad ways, but could not dare to make any kind of friendly overture and did not want to make herself noticeable to him anyway. It was best for her that they remained aloof to one another, which of course, was not difficult as the tailor was a busy man and she doubted he had time to give a skinny little mutt consideration of any kind anyway. Unless specifically asked for, of course. "Please get rid of me if you are busy. I'm only here to talk about... this." She unfolded the coat, holding it up before him. "What do you think?" It was currently non-descript, especially to Caspa whose fashion experience ran only to tearing the sleeves off a leather coat to make into a bag. It was just a dark purple coat, but soft to the touch with a pinched waist, long flaring hem and long flaring sleeves. It was up to her to find the words to convince Strelein that it could be magical. This was her challenge, and she found herself dreading the task more than she'd dreaded the march to AniWaya on the eve of battle.
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