Lost?
Vercingtorix is pierced with her likeness to the wolves of his homeland, that live back in the inhospitable forests beyond the three towns. Vicious creatures, larger than normal wolves, and many shot through with eyes like sapphires. Yes. This woman is striking, and predator, and her axe alone sends a message of her character.
But she should not be holding an axe, he thinks, as in his mind her stripes resemble in some strange likeness Bondike’s—no, Boudika’s—and that, too, unsettles him.
But he is a hunter.
And does not remain unsettled long.
Vercingtorix almost smiles; either way, his expression softens into something amiable. “No,” Vercingtorix says. “Only exploring.” Damascus, through their Bond, notices Antiope for the first time. He tilts his massive wings and careens toward them from where he is silhouetted far out at sea. His cry sounds lost, even if Vercingtorix is not.
Says he isn’t, at least.
“This is a beautiful land,” Torix comments, gesturing to the cliffsides and the jagged rocks, the way they cut the sea and sky with little regard for either. Stones like knives. "I am Torix, by the way."
"Speech" || @Antiope
