handprints in wet cement

"Yes" one word to answer the multiple of questions, even though the girl wasn't sure how true that answer was to either in the moment. she stays where she is, stagnant with her chapped lips firm together and the inner of her knees filthy with mud and the debris of being a unruly child. the hairs atop her spine rose in a moment of fever - when the wind blew and she was caught offguard as if it was something this woman was doing but she knew not of any of it. she as no mystical being of powers or lifted digression of the gods. wouldn't that be fun - perhaps that is what she left. "well, I live here." she began, her head tilting slightly as she realized that wasnt exactly correct, the end of her sentence lifting up for just a moment before continuing "well, close.." thats more than the stranger needed to know, she didnt need some random person finding her den and keeping it for herself. she, with great shame had slept in various creatures homes while they were absent with little to no worry, or so she would say.