It is amazing to her, just how quickly she sours on the interaction.
Her mood turns from neutral to dark in an instant, her silver eyes hardening with each passing moment as she watches them interact. Why did she think that she ever cared about this kind of politics? Why did she think for a second that she would want to be in this situation, this position? Her mouth twists into something that does little to hide her bad temper, her shortening patience a fuse recently lit.
They ask her questions, tell her things, and she barely hears them.
All she hears is the roar in her head—that wild need to break free of tradition.
After several silent moments, she turns her attention to Ghaul. She levels her gaze on the strange draconic stallion, the only one who seems to understand the predator in her, and she nods.
“I need a place where I can start a new life,” she says. “A place where I will be given the freedom to do that—even if it means gathering my own group of people.” A pack, she thinks, remembering the dream that she had. Remembering the slow burn of moving toward a future where she got to make the rules.
“I’ll come to the Cove with you if you can promise me that.”
She has a feeling that he will agree, that he will give her the space she needs to start her new life (however slow and purposeful she may be in building it), but if he doesn’t, she will find another way.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed