oh the misery

She gave a small, appreciative hum when the man looked her over, took in the details she displayed and signaled his understanding with a simple "I see", glad she didn't need to explain further. Not just because it would be more talking, but because it would be... kind of embarrassing too.

Though, his next contribution to the conversation caught her a bit off guard, earning him some suspiciously furrowed brows.

So, he was not only an accomplished warrior, but a pack wolf as well, the sort she'd never interacted with up close before. Packs were always... strange to the girl. There was nothing wrong with them -- it made perfect sense to live together as a group instead of roughing it on your own, if her own family's sordid history was any proof of that. It was just... different. And very... social, she presumed.

Hm.

She glanced at her pitiful spoils, then to the leg she still held limp in the air, who's pulsating pain she'd been able to ignore due to this distraction, but was still very present once she brought her attention back to it. Then to the pelt he wore upon his shoulders, who's acquisition she was now more curious of (perhaps he hadn't done it alone?). Now finally back to his face, his "question" (command, really) still hanging in the air.

"What's it like? Your Armada," she posed, as if his answer would change the reality of the situation.


"Speech."