welcome home, little bird

While the interior of Calliope's den was not splendid, it was at least comfortable. Dim lighting illuminated by the setting sun across the water and various pelts lay around for somewhere to sleep. Even a small hearth off to the side during the colder months - not that it ever really got that cold, but it came in handy. One large room, hardly any trinkets (Calliope was more a keeper of wolves than inanimate objects), just enough for her and now Finch. She supposed she would let Finch add some touches to it if the girl ended up staying.

Following the smaller female into the interior, Calliope only huffed a response to the compliment. Beautiful. Inwardly, she was proud and beamed, but her expression said little. Exhaustion riddled her own body as she padded along behind Finch toward the back where the thickest and softest of the furs were. "You do not need to be uncomfortable while you are here," Calliope commented off handedly as she plopped herself down on said furs and raised a silent brow as she stared at the trembling girl. Really, she may be a horrible wolf, but she wasn't cruel like that. Her captives would at least be cared for to the best of her abilities.

Laying her chin upon her paws, she watches Finch. Secretly admires her from afar. Almost itches to curl around the girl, warm her weary bones, but keeps her distance. While their journey and relationship was strained, she could feel herself adjusting and getting used to the chatty know-it-all. Calliope's ears even flickered forward to listen to Finch's soft murmurs about the terrible sight she saw near the delta while she had been bathing in the hot springs. Her brows narrow, confusion and concern glancing over her expression before she looks out to the doorway where the sea can be seen through the makeshift door.

It takes Calliope a moment to respond. She thinks, calculating, pondering what best to say to the girl's response. Not that Calliope had any better idea than Finch about any of this. Disease was spreading. Spires were rising. The sky was still painted a deep, malicious red. For as nasty as a wolf as she was, the happenings were unsettling even for herself. Bravery was merely a mask at this point to hide her own fear.

Inhaling deeply, she closes her pastel gaze for a moment as she exhales. "I do not believe anyone is certain, but what I do believe is that everyone is frightened," her own deepened tones were gentle, vulnerable. Here, in her den, her home, she could be... different. Not the Calliope that everyone knew. Turning her chin slightly to look back at Finch, she feels her breath catch in her throat for a moment.

"Speech"