08-30-2021, 09:44 PM
Wherewolf stands dark and glowering as the girl flusters through realizing what he has said, and it is only when she asks him to escort her that the hard lines of his face soften at all. Not a lot, and not because he has forgiven her supposed error, but because it's exactly what he was hoping she would do. He also cannot deny that there is a strange charm to her voice and her smile that tugs at him, but the loose control she keeps of that magic, combined with his misanthropic nature, leaves him well in control of himself. When he tucks his dark wings back against his glittering sides and steps toward her, it is because he always intended to do it.
Mostly.
Probably.
He supposes that it doesn't really matter. The Pampaian Lord bristles at her side, still thorny, still blocking her direct route to water, and he gestures at it, the glittering, not-too-distant sea.
"The Elkear are rutting," he explains, his clipped Nerinian accent struggling with the creatures' name, "they've made the land between here and the Western Sea impassable."
This is partly true. The Elkear are rutting, and the fire-breathing creatures are certainly dangerous at the best of times, let alone when hormones fuel them into their skull-splitting wrestling matches, but the chances of running into one are no greater in this part of the Pampas than anywhere else. The danger is, in fact, completely ubiquitous.
"The Northern trail is longer but bends outside their breeding ground."
More importantly, it will take them nearly through the heart of the Pampas where someone willing to put more effort into such things can try to abduct the girl. He steps forward, tipping his head back slightly to see if she will follow, and knows he should say something more to fill the space between them no matter how badly he'd prefer to not.
"You are from one of the Islands?"
Perhaps she already knows some of their captives. That will be comforting for her during her stay.
Mostly.
Probably.
He supposes that it doesn't really matter. The Pampaian Lord bristles at her side, still thorny, still blocking her direct route to water, and he gestures at it, the glittering, not-too-distant sea.
"The Elkear are rutting," he explains, his clipped Nerinian accent struggling with the creatures' name, "they've made the land between here and the Western Sea impassable."
This is partly true. The Elkear are rutting, and the fire-breathing creatures are certainly dangerous at the best of times, let alone when hormones fuel them into their skull-splitting wrestling matches, but the chances of running into one are no greater in this part of the Pampas than anywhere else. The danger is, in fact, completely ubiquitous.
"The Northern trail is longer but bends outside their breeding ground."
More importantly, it will take them nearly through the heart of the Pampas where someone willing to put more effort into such things can try to abduct the girl. He steps forward, tipping his head back slightly to see if she will follow, and knows he should say something more to fill the space between them no matter how badly he'd prefer to not.
"You are from one of the Islands?"
Perhaps she already knows some of their captives. That will be comforting for her during her stay.
@Moira
