9/23/2026, 11:06 PM
pretty.
that, at least, requires no translation. fa’liya’s ears draw briefly sideways, and her eyes leave him for the petal resting beside her paw. she does not know what to do with compliments from strangers. gratitude seems expected, perhaps, but by the time she thinks to offer it, sverke is already speaking again.
she catches enough pieces to understand his answer to her question, to which she recieves a resounding no. her gaze lifts toward the nearby branches as the bird reveals itself again, black among all that red. its eye catches the sun with an oily gleam.
sverke asks something else, too much at once. her brow creases while she picks through the sounds, turning familiar words over and discarding those she cannot place.
she lacks the words. away she knows, though it sounds harsher than what she means. she is not fleeing. no one has chased her from camp. there had simply been too many bodies, too many voices overlapping, too many pups.
her gaze wanders back to him. if his brothers brought him here, then perhaps here is not where he intended to be.
that, at least, requires no translation. fa’liya’s ears draw briefly sideways, and her eyes leave him for the petal resting beside her paw. she does not know what to do with compliments from strangers. gratitude seems expected, perhaps, but by the time she thinks to offer it, sverke is already speaking again.
she catches enough pieces to understand his answer to her question, to which she recieves a resounding no. her gaze lifts toward the nearby branches as the bird reveals itself again, black among all that red. its eye catches the sun with an oily gleam.
trouble,fa’liya repeats, finding the word among his answer. her attention settles on the raven.
yes. he look trouble.
sverke asks something else, too much at once. her brow creases while she picks through the sounds, turning familiar words over and discarding those she cannot place.
..no hunt.her answer comes after long enough that another wolf might mistake the silence for reluctance. fa’liya glances back through the wisteria, toward the unseen direction of saatsine.
she lacks the words. away she knows, though it sounds harsher than what she means. she is not fleeing. no one has chased her from camp. there had simply been too many bodies, too many voices overlapping, too many pups.
quiet,she decides.
look for quiet.a breath leaves her afterward, almost a sigh, though it frays into that thin whistle near the end. she waits through it without comment. when her chest loosens again, she lowers herself carefully onto her haunches. red-gold flowers pool around her feet.
her gaze wanders back to him. if his brothers brought him here, then perhaps here is not where he intended to be.
your brothers bring you very far.she says.
why? you make trouble too?