7/30/2026, 5:31 PM
She doesn't speak the common tongue well, this becomes evident the moment she does deign to speak. Sun clan are the wolves that hunt this forest, the pack she belongs to. Mine, she says. Sverke gives a slight nod.
Another measured step forward, as if the distance between them is dark, thin ice and not a sturdy forest floor littered with a cushion of wisteria petals. Two-toned eyes dip into the hollow between ribs, the arch of an underfed waist, sallow cheeks, illuminated in stark contrast by the morning's glow. After a cursory inspection, he glances toward her cool, icy blue eyes again.
Do they not feed you over there?Sverke drawls the question, and it's almost light enough to be a dry-humored joke if she wants to try to take it that way. There's an undercurrent of sincerity, not quite hidden under the flippant delivery.
I'm Sverke. Mine are Skjoldrheim, very far north from here.The language barrier and her standoffish caution hold the usually unstoppable force at bay, steadied upon his perch, the tip of his tail waving side to side to satisfy an impulse for fidgeting.
Who're you?
