An ear twitched, eyes drifting to where the other had touched then carefully tracing a path back to a gaze already set elsewhere. Mhm.

Not bad.

Benji remained patient as Citalá fell quiet, contentedly listening to only the padding of paws, their breaths, and the nearing roil of waters. Fish hung in the air fairly strong now and the scent clung to the back of her throat comfortably. The mild discomfort in her stomach dulled now at the promise of a meal. In turn, Citalá's voice pierced her thoughts, thinly straying as they were.

She nodded although this not being the other's land was easy to infer, and truly she wondered if it was anyone's. Did every wolf who roamed these lands once used to roam elsewhere? The children that ran amok through Howff's territory implied perhaps this was an affliction only older sorts were privy to, but even then she couldn't be sure. Benji's ears fanned out to the sides of her head... sympathetically. Drowning was no easy death. The way Citalá spoke, though, it led Benji to believe it wasn't the act itself that bothered her so.

Must've been some sort of ritualistic thing. Or, the illusion of one. Clearly she'd been tricked.

Benji struggled with emotionality. Either she felt verbally stiff or she was verbally stiff and that - that didn't do much good at all. But, well, saying nothing wasn't great either.

"Seems it wasn't," she said, tone flat but the pitch of her voice stayed low—warm. "Sorry that's how it turned out for you." Benji shook her head. "Gods are fickle I fear. I've prayed to many and none answer. Don't take winding up here to heart."

She looked away, off to the left where she spotted the glistening surface of water. "It's no fault of yours that your Cisin didn't speak in truth."

With a little huff and a full body shake to rid her skin of the tension beneath it, she pulled ahead by just a step. "Is that where we can fish?"

The quiet after she speaks prickles her skin, watching, painfully waiting for a response from Benji as her heart seeks out that which she cannot give herself. Then, the raven lady can almost breathe in relief. Making eye contact with the plain spoken wolf, Citalá can almost smile in comfort at the words.

”Gods are not kind,” she agrees. The water ripples, waves licking up the sand and churning foam. Citalá could watch it all day; deep blues, swirling, pulling and pushing out. So many passengers can exist in the realm of water, and she can, too. ”I need no Cisin, now.”

The softness of her voice is a contrast to her fangs that jut over her bottom lips, the narrowness of her eyes. If Cisin rejected her, she is right to reject him as well. She is the deity of her own story.

Trotting ahead, she grins, a flash of white against her dark head as she pulls close to the water.

“Fish here, yes,” she agrees. Greeting an old friend, she enters one limb at a time, the waves soaking up to her elbows. Her toes dredge up sand, turning the water dusky. She stills herself, steady as she waits in the cold waters for Benji. ”You must catch more than I do, yes?”