the strong and silent type

Gwynevere worked quietly after she introduced herself, realizing after a few moments that he hadn't said a word this entire time. He simply smiled and that was about it, though she did feel him tense as she worked on the tender wound. She couldn't say that she minded all that much. It was peaceful and she didn't have to try and come up with words to say in return. She could focus on her work and she got it done more quickly than she might have normally since she didn't have any distractions. Once the wound was cleaned up and the dark fur around it had most if not all of the dried blood cleaned away, she unwrapped the cloth from her paw and sat it off to the side. Picking up a small pot of marigold, dandelion root, and horse tail poultice she had mixed up before she left just in case one of her siblings might need to be fixed up after the fights, she began applying it gently in and around the wound and used the stickiness of it to carefully close the skin together, holding her paw over it for a long moment to let the horsetail set and act like a glue.

She looked up at him again while she was gently holding the wound, her marbled lavender and sage eyes catching the dual toned silver and sapphire of his. After growing up around boys like Rudyard and Artorias who were always so eager to hold a conversation this was almost like a refreshing reprieve. There was also a strange feeling she had that she didn't really need to say anything, as if his eyes and face were expressive enough to talk for him. She did realize that she would probably at least need to know his name so that she could know how to address him. Otherwise she'd just have to call him some other nickname she supposed. "What's your name?" she asked with a small tilt of her head, looking at her quiet kindred spirit curiously.

Gwynevere | Eilwen