I RUN FROM WOLVES // OPEN

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

Feyre's early life had not been spent heeding the orders of some all-powerful master, forced to wait and attend and recite and be a thing that existed for someone else's gain. She was free from those burdens and yet, lacked a childhood all the same. Her circumstances were far better though, the sleep that she was placed in hardly comparable to the life that Danyla presumably had to lead. But a part of her very existence had been stripped away just as his had, the witches forcing her soul into dormancy so that she no longer provided a danger to herself. To them. It was a shame that her idle state had only made her more volatile, a loose canon who's inability to control herself could mean trouble at any moment. But Feyre didn't know that, didn't know anything outside of her vague interest in an unfamiliar face and the soothing lilt of Latin tongue, the faintest of smiles decorating a speckled maw as she approached him.

[color=#3f5351]"Opposite shore?" Feyre would inquire lightly, a brow raising as she first drank in the sight of the bucket and then, Danyla. Her eyes were bright and her gaze unwavering as she stared up at the direwolf, not at all intimidated by his superior size and stature. Big things traditionally had the ability of unnerving her, leaving her shaking in fear of the unknown and its promise, victim to anxieties she could not explain- possessed no desire to. She was surprised he did not provide her with that same reaction. Maybe it was the glitter... she had always had a love of sparkly things and she'd be lying if she said that the glittery water did not capture her attention. [color=#3f5351]"I'm Feyre... I can understand Latin I just can't... uh... Speak it," She explained embarrassedly, not one to especially enjoy talking about her inability to speak in her birth tongue but figuring that she needed to extend some reason as to why she picked up on what he said. [color=#3f5351]"Who are you? And... What are you doing?"