thoughts from a severed head

A girl appeared, maybe even younger than Henbane herself. She wouldn't let her surprise show, she wouldn't let it slip. Instead, Hen tries her best for a smile, as the woman introduces herself. Curator? Too many languages, the context clues had to be enough. The borders smell like her, the pack must be hers. Seemed to make sense, at least as much sense as anything else.

"I'm Henbane, Deion's my dad. I don't mean t'be forward but he's gettin' old, I don't want to leave him again." The girl's words are on the awkward, side, stilted. Not a fan of asking anything of anyone, but... fuck it. If it meant not splitting up the family, then it's worth it. "Won't trouble you none, 'n I can pull my own weight." Scuffing the dirt at her paws, offering a lopsided smile to try and break up her own nerves.

She's no good with authority, but Hen is trying.

"Speech"