Freya's ears twitch to the song of the lyrium under his skin. Manifesting as the low, melodious call of a siren to her curiosity. She's never seen someone like him, someone marked in such a way that begs to be questioned. Somehow she holds her tongue, though her eyes follow the winding paths that branch across his flesh like rivers.
His words confuse her, if only for a moment. It made sense that he would not miss something he had never been apart of. Their culture was dying, everyone knew that here, and it was circumstances like his own that furthered that decay. Here stood an elf with no concept of what it was even like to be one, or of his very origin. Despite what he says, she still feels for him. The sadness that laps at the shore is only overshadowed by the pull of her anger. It wasn't fair that he'd been stolen and forced to live this life, just as it was for her. Her emotion snaps at her insides, a whip-crack that stings and burns like an open wound. It grows all the time, this rage of hers--turning as some dark thing in the pit of her stomach. It makes her sick to feel so much with no outlet, and without her consent her hand tightens around his.
"It is, at least, comforting that city elves can be kind," A short pause, in which she glances upward so that the light from a lantern reflects across golden irises, "The dalish don't speak highly of them. It is good to know they were wrong." Otherwise, where would she be right now? Shuddering in the cold, or in the grip of someone far less forgiving of her antics.
As the walk drags on, her mind attempts to flit back to why she is here in the first place. Her breath stutters, and her cheek aches. It's easy to stick her head under the water and close her eyes, to let her body become numb and her thoughts fracture and free themselves from her head. She can feel it happening, that worming of consciousness that leaks free, until his voice jars her back into reality. He has answered her second question, tempering her curiosity once again and allowing them both to slip into a short silence as she nods her reply. The walk is made without incident, thank the gods, and soon they find themselves entering the warm den of a shop. A fire crackled in a hearth close by, pulsing with a soft heat that draws her attention. The place stinks of herbs and spices, meeting his look just as the proprietor of said place comes into view.
As she is mentioned, she shuffles just a little closer to her taller companion--golden gaze never lingering in any one place for too long. The little elf can feel how he smooths through a lie, though there is a tell in the subtle flickers of his features. The threat is as present as a stalking predator, looming with promise, yet not acting. She doesn't like this woman already, and the second she disappears she dislodges herself from the man to make her way toward the fire.
The child takes a cursory look around, then begins to rifle through various trinkets and ingredients that are out on display. Sensitive ears can hear the woman still in the back,
and with her words in mind she slips a few items into her shallow pockets with a subtle grace. She wasn't sure what she would even do with them, but she was angry enough on behalf of her partner that she wanted to do something to this shem. She has her hand in a basket of lavender when the woman reappears, gaze as sharp as a knife when they cut to the elf. Where once her fingers grasped, they deftly transitioned into combing, though this was still not appreciated. The bark of the woman's voice causes her to flinch, scuttling back to Fenris's side when the human moves toward her. Her long ears are tilted back in displeasure, nose wrinkled in the beginnings of a snarl as the human roughly grabs her wrist and jerks her arm forward. The other hand connects with her wounded cheek, left eye scrunching up to water at the impact of the slap that upset the deep grooves.
"Keep yer nasty little hands to yerself, ya filthy thing." Her grip is so strong that the rings on her fingers leave marks on the child's skin, who wrenches herself away once she gains some leverage. Sharp teeth bite the edge of a hiss of air as she retracts to press herself against the taller elf's side. The woman narrows her eyes, jaw set and hard in anger as she turns her attention abruptly to the older. "You go ahead and tell Danarius ta make sure she is disinclined to touch things that ain't hers after tonight." She thrusts a finger in the child's direction, apparently content with whatever punishment she was sure this man would deliver. "I'll be asking about it next time you come in here." Another threat, one that makes Freya feel proud of the weight in her pockets.
Shoving the bag and its contents into Fenris's hands, she waves the two of them away without a word. Freya's nose is still scrunched in lingering pain, her entire head pounding with throbs that pulse against her teeth. Gently, she reaches up to cover the space with her palm, lips twitching as a sniffle indicates that she is attempting not to cry.
"I am sorry if I got you into trouble," She mumbles, fishing in her pockets to examine the contents when they got back outside. There is a small vial of dark liquid, the stem of an unknown herb, and a few smooth, colorful stones. "May I still walk with you for a while?" She is uncertain of what his feelings were about what just happened, and hopes that the woman either forgets, or that he is able to lie in favor of his master. Reluctantly she looks up, praying that he will not hit her or make her leave his company just yet.
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