FAITH IS THE BULLET, HOPE IS THE GUN
02-21-2014, 11:43 AM
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MADE FROM THE PIECES OF YOUR GAME The man was polite, returning her greeting in kind and seeming to notice her seating herself with a little more insult than she would have expected. He replied to her inquiry calmly, pointing out that she did not need to seat herself to make him feel a little less like he was a puny creature. She chuckled, enjoying the conversation already. "I was not sitting for your benefit, sir, but my own. I have been walking nearly all day, and I was in need of a rest." She explained with an amused grin, holding his own pale green gaze with a mismatched stare of her own. Interesting, at least now she knew how to go about meeting smaller wolves. Usually she was considered smaller, or somewhere around average height for women. So she was usually the one being talked down to, and didn't know what to do when it came to talking to those of a less grand stature. Muscles would tense as she shook out her thick coat, which was slightly thinner for summer, but still quite sleek and dense. Pulling a twig from it's place burrowed in the fur of her shoulder, she spat it out upon the stone beside her and returned her fire and ice gaze to the man before her. A yawn would stretch her jaws for a brief moment before she looked to the stranger, finally realizing that she had not introduced herself nor received a name for this man. "May I be so bold as to ask your name, sir?" Cool soprano lyrics would inquire as she regarded the male curiously, wondering what someone of such stature and demeanor could be called. Did he have a nickname like herself, or was that yet another custom of the clan? She would soon find out, among other things. "Speech" |
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