I keep my copper eyes strictly upon the male in the water. I can smell his injury, even if he thinks that the water may cover it. Sure, water can rid your scent, but not completely, and not to a well trained nose as long as it is rather...fresh. It was a pleasing thing for me to see, as long as it isn't my own. I have not once seen my own blood or flesh, not even in that pathetic war between Angels and Demons, where everyone came out with gashes and scars but me. I am particularly pleased that Azrael got his face scratched, and how awful it must be for the arrogant pretty boy. Yes, I have seen him stress over it. He thinks I do not see, but I see all, at least all important things. My eyes are always lingering on the ones that live within Diveen, at least the ones who may have something interesting. Yes, I do spy on the pack. I am an assassin, and I need to know all the going ons for my future knowledge. Nothing important will escape me, this is for certain.

He is strange looking, in a similar way that dear, traitorous Malina looks. That white...thing around his eye, looks...horrendous, and I am rather disappointed in his fur coloration choice. It is rather unfortunate that his parents created such a sorry look, but what can I say, most wolves are stupid. I created three wolves that are absolutely stunning to the eyes. Glorious and perfect, from the best blood on Moladion combined. I hardly care about matehood, and held no need for Heyel's help in raising our children. Let him play with his old-lady pathetic tiny mate who produce flawed children. Even the best choices in Moladion are...meh. This male in front of my, hardly impresses. No matter though. I don't expect to find another wolf as impeccable as myself or my children, although I am not going to lie, I do wish for more children, for how else am I to spread my greatness? I am always keeping an eye out for worthy males.

I hold my beautiful black and grey visage still, almost like a statue with stone-cold emotion as he speaks. His words do not harm me, for I am not some worthless, skinless beast. I have a mind of rock, unpenatrable by anything produced by the mouth. It is cute though, his little attempt at hurting my non-existent feelings. Almost no one dares to do such a thing, what with my impressive form given to me by my parents Eris and Castor. I am muscular, tall and capable. I am built to destroy, and that is what I do when needed. Destroy with pleasure.

"My, my. We are terribly bitter today, aren't we? Tell me, what has caused this...wound, besides your inability to to protect yourself?" I say simply, my voice still containing a nice little bite with that heaping tone of honey. He is lucky, really, that I decided to actually put effort in my English. I still have my thick Latin accent, of course, but I decided to use the 'proper' grammar. I am not trying to fool him as I usually would. I find that using a broken English can come to my advantage, but this boy is injured. I will be a nice girl and graciously not make him think more than he has to, because he obviously lacks the mind to deal with it, and I am in no mood to deal with explaining myself more than one.

I watch as he climbs out of the river, his fur drenched and looking rather...harsh on the eyes. He decides to shake, and I do not flinch as he does so. In fact, I remain still other than the occasional flick of my tail, and swivel of the ear. You see, my ears are always listening, to slightest sounds. I must remain aware of every little movement, every little indicator that someone else may be around. I am sure there are demons who would wish for my head, and I am treading close to their territory to taunt them.

"O, quid ego alios attingam. Meum nomen est aliquid sacrum. Ava est. Maybe unum die, te quod instar sicco." I say in the ancient tongue, my voice flowing smoother than the river that runs past our paws. If he can figure out my name from this language, one he is likely not familiar with, than he can have it. If not? Tough luck. At this time, I allow my lips to give the slightest, and I mean slightest, touch of a grin. I only do so to give off an more friendly aura, and yet there is something in my copper and blue eyes, that always remains in sharp fire.

"Do you understand?" I ask, raising a brow slightly, but I already know the answer. Few speak the language of old, and even fewer speak with with beauty, with a poetic sense of words. It is a pity the old language isn't used by all, and yet, I suppose I don't mind the trash keeping to their English.