3/24/2026, 3:58 AM
A pause in the cleaning; she stares at him a long moment, ignoring the steaming pile of sick.
Your blood then, fire-eater.She reaches over to his face, wounded and scabbing, and catches his cheek with her teeth. Maybe it will scar—she doesn't care about that. The blood is drawn across the child's face, from forehead to nose. It bleeds in to damp fur—a bloom.
What does the man Tugix call this one?She doubted he had any idea of who this was, or where they came from, let alone what to call it. Long, awkward limbs hold the child close, possessive. Eyes focus upon it, staring, staring, staring, and forgetting herself.