---

She fidgets a little beneath the compliment, which makes Sverke want to offer more. The tipping point from collected and cold to flustered - where is it? Does he have to laud her icy gaze, or wax poetic about the way she bleeds into shadows like silk in water?

She agrees: trouble. Sverke hums his affirmation, a ripple through his shoulders as he settles deeper into his poise. No hunt, then. Ah, a shame. Sverke is patient, but not well-attuned to stillness. He'd have liked to seen his new friend dressed in the crimson of a fresh kill - compare the color to the petals adorning her now like a wealth of jewels.

He doesn't quite catch the sound of the fraying edge of her sigh, but does hear the silence that stretches companionably between them. His cheek cushions against the ridge of his forearm. Quiet, Fa'liya had said, and Sverke knew when to shut his mouth. He's rewarded with another question, one that makes him grin: all teeth, a flippant and boyish smirk tinged with that hint of something far older and hungrier he has a hard time keeping a leash on. Oh, I am trouble. Never let it be said he didn't offer fair warning. The rising excitement in his demeanor settles again, ruffled fur flattening into folds of navy linen over his frame. But for you, Fa'liya, I can be quiet. If that was really what she wanted. Maybe a stroll through the maze dripping with flowers. Maybe just a quiet, meandering conversation. Maybe she'd just up and leave - find her quiet in solitude.

his grin gives her pause. there are altogether too many teeth in it for a creature offering peace, and fa’liya regards him with mild uncertainty. he is trouble, he says. willingly, even proudly. she wonders what sort of trouble announces itself before arriving. the worst kinds she has known were seldom so courteous.

you are trouble, she repeats, testing the declaration against his easy manner. her ears turn forward. but you can be quiet? there is something almost humorous in the contradiction. she studies him another moment, then allows her gaze to wander toward the flowers gathered at the foot of his stone. perhaps he is making a joke. she has never been particularly gifted at recognizing them, especially when spoken in a tongue that makes her feel perpetually a few paces behind everyone else.

you can speak, she tells him at last. just... slow. a little motion of her muzzle accompanies the request. i not know all your words. an embarrassing admission, though not one she can afford to conceal if they are to continue talking. fa’liya has been learning the common tongue for some time, and still there are days when she thinks herself no cleverer than a pup being taught its first names. understanding comes more easily than speaking. even so, she often finds herself making sense of things only after the conversation has moved beyond them.

the raven interrupts her thoughts with a dry, guttural croak. she glances upward, finding it where it has settled among the blossoms. he not quiet, she remarks, almost accusingly, to the bird itself.

you not tell why brothers bring you, she ventures after a while, curiosity overcoming her reservations. his earlier answer had been swallowed by the difficulty of his language, and she is not entirely certain whether she has missed something important. you come for something?

---

He does not stop grinning, but the star-freckled man does hum in agreement. Mhmm. As if to prove he can, indeed, be quiet if that was what she needed. Fa'liya agrees to speak with him - or let him speak, at least, if he can do so at a pace she can keep up with. Sverke gives a little sigh, nods his head. The shadowy waif is like a dark pearl, and he is not quite finished admiring her sheen in the striped golden light.

Not quiet, indeed. Troublesome thing. Sverke fires off a scathing glare at the offending bird, before tilting his chin in mocking invitation. Come on down, but the glint in the wolf's eyes makes clear he intends to snap up the creature if it makes a misstep.

Two-toned eyes flit back to the woman's icy pair as she speaks again. Sverke's expression smooths, suddenly a bit pensive and entirely lacking in the predatory edge so often dancing upon his features. Oh. Looking for my other brother, first. Then, we were just....wandering, I guess.

You come for something?

Nothing worth remembering, nothing worth wanting, more than the other half of his soul now absent, unreachable.

Lashes droop over bright eyes, coy, smarmy grin curling upon his lips, I came to see the beauty of the world, Fa'liya. And thanks to you, I have found it.

other brother. fa’liya catches the distinction, though much of what follows slips beyond her understanding. she watches the change in his expression with greater interest than the words themselves. something has quieted there, however briefly, beneath the easy amusement he wears so comfortably. she recognizes that much. there are subjects upon which even the most talkative creatures become unwilling to linger. her own mother is one such subject, and she has learned to recognize the careful way others approach her absence.

then he smiles again, and whatever had troubled him seems to disappear beneath it.

fa’liya blinks at his answer. beauty. world. thanks to you. the words are familiar individually, but together they make something she cannot immediately understand. she considers them with a faint furrow between her brows, turning each over as though their meaning might become clearer for the effort. perhaps he is thanking her for showing him this place? except she has done nothing of the sort. he was here before her, and the forest has hardly changed for her arrival.

oh. her ears turn sideways. it is.. pretty. here. she glances toward the wisteria, finding it an easier subject than the peculiar warmth of his attention. long curtains of blossoms hang nearly to the earth, and where the sunlight passes through them, the woodland seems to have been steeped in something sweet and golden. she has seen little like it near the territories of her birth. the northern woods are beautiful in their own fashion, though they have always been rather economical with their colors.

flowers are... she hesitates, searching for a word that will not come. beautiful seems insufficient, but it is the only one she knows. very beautiful. yes.

there is a small measure of satisfaction in having understood him, even if she has perhaps missed the compliment altogether. still, the way he had said her name troubles her pleasantly. she has not been called pretty before in any language. among the saatsine, concern is a more familiar companion to admiration. she is accustomed to being looked upon and found wanting, or worse, pitied for what cannot be corrected.

her gaze returns to him, pale against the dark markings of her face. you find him? other brother.

above them, the raven gives a short croak. fa’liya looks up, her expression turning thoughtful. it has followed sverke this far, apparently without invitation. perhaps the bird has been entrusted with something he does not understand. perhaps it is merely hungry and ill-tempered. she has encountered enough of both varieties to know that the difference is not always obvious.

maybe he help, she suggests, tipping her muzzle toward the black creature. birds see much from sky.