I Live For Furs. I Worship Furs!

Ignita smiled with a stress-induced grimace as she saw Cit's little smoke-tipped blue tail disappear under a low table. The giggle on the other side gave her all the signs that he was intent on causing a little havoc. She bobbed her head up and down to peer through the backs of the stalls into the other aisle. But to no avail, he was too short to spy.

She was grateful Idalia at least clung to the coat she made him wear. This spring chill must be making him cold! The breeze had dug into her own fur this morning.

She quickly padded through the throngs of the market. Looking for her little boy, who was, no doubt, trying to give her a heart attack.

She turned into the next aisle, trying to ignore the thrum of her heart. She knew this was a bad idea! Chewing on the inside of her cheek her golden eyes bounced from market stall to patron to shop keep and lower.

ACH! There! If the the seven seas were desert dunes she'd lay a curse over every single one! Or maybe a thankful blessing... He had lost his coat and was following a smoke grey and purple woman with curious markings. Her golden eyes locked on them both, intent on keeping him in sight. So far maybe she didn't need to intervene.

She chewed the inside of her other cheek as she waited and tailed them. There were just too many new folk and strangers around! She had lost sight of him before, and anything could happen!

She approached the two at a quickened pace, trying to curb her anxiety out of the tone of her voice.
"Citadel!" She called out to him, so much for curbing the anxiety, her voice was shrill and loud, and clear as a bell even through the throng of strangers around them.

"Citadel." She tried again, evening her tone as she got within a better conversational space, "You were supposed to stay close, not slip away!" Breathe Ignita! She pulled in a trembling breath and slowly let it back out, "I thought I lost you for a minute. Where did your coat go?" She asked a lot more calmly, looking around trying to spy it before it was tripped on or trampled.

That's when she glanced at the woman, "I apologize, I do hope my son has been polite. I'm Ignita, Consort of the Armada, you are?" hopefully, the taller lady wouldn't mind introducing her self again to the boy's mother.

"Speech"