Paw prints of my Ancestors

Thorne has always been a creature of caution. Even as a child, wide-eyed and in awe of the enormity of the world, a sense of self-presveration has been embedded within her very being. And so, as the male speaks, the fae studies him carefully; his relaxed stature and pale blue eyes, his voice and the slight upward tug of his lips. She holds no doubt that he has already reached the same conclusion as she: she is no threat. Not in her bedraggled state, not when her joints still ache with exhaustion and she is alone in a strange place. He has no means to be concerned, and while she maintains are perpetual viligance, she relaxes slightly. If he does not deem her threat, perhaps he is less likely to feel the need to attack.

And so, she allows a light chuckle, the sound breathy and amused. "Yes, it has not been a pleasant journey, I will admit". She feels his lingering gaze, taking in her wiry form and jutting bones. Instead of cowering, she meets his gaze, holding it for as long as he would stare back. She wouldn't hide from the truth of her condition. "Song Destruction" she echoes finally, rolling the name across her tongue. "Quite a name. I can imagine it inspires a sense of apprehension among newcomers. My own name, I'm afraid, does not pack the same punch". Those brilliant cerulean pools twinkle with amusement. "Thorne. Just Thorne". That night, she had abadoned her title along with her father's last name, desiring to sever any possible tie to her past.

"Is there really magic within these lands?". She pauses to scan the mangrove, drinking in every detail. There wasn't anything particuarly fantastical about their surroundings, but perhaps that was the trap, designed to trick passerbys into assuming its uselessness. "Personally, I've never believed in magic. But perhaps...Perhaps, tonight, I will be swayed".