It did not escape Fiammetta's notice how the stranger male watched her. It was not with hunger or passion, nor with the revulsion that she expected she would grow quite accustomed to. No, he caressed her with his pity, traced her wounds with eyes that longed to help, longed to be of use. In the past, such sentiment may have stirred anger within her breast, but at present she felt only gratitude knowing that the other would not leave her alone to die. She had also taken into account his lack of interest in her sexually, and so could be visibly seen to relax, no longer on her guard. Only when the racking sneezes shook her did she tense up once more, pain visibly written on every crease of her muzzle as her body was shaken against her will, leaving her shivering and weak in its wake. In that moment she did not dare to look upon the other, sensing his helplessness and feeling less than reassured by it. Unfortunately for Fiam, he was no healer.

Ah well, warriors were more to her tastes anyway.

When she finally regained breath enough to speak, the boy listened intently, relief clean and pure on his face, as if he had expected her to be so stupid as to cast away the only one who would help her in her hour of need. She tactfully ignored this affront to her pride, and simply dipped her head in acknowledgement of his own silent promise before asking him his name. He, however, seemed not to be focusing on something above her and she instinctively looked up although, seeing nothing but the ceiling above her studded with clods of earth, she settled her boring eye on his gaze again, seeking to read his face. He gave little away (perhaps there was little to give away?) and took a further moment before replying, his voice stumbling as he did so. She grinned then, unable to hide her amusement, and was glad that he had not yet altered his focus from whatever held it to notice. Of course, her luck to be stuck with the only wolf in Moladion who could barely remember his own name.

Finally, as though sensing her mocking thoughts, the lad took initiative and asked her for her own name, his tongue flicking out to touch his nose as though he were trying to keep himself hooked in the present. At least the fairy knew enough to keep his body still so that he didn't jolt hers – a small blessing in light of recent experiences – and she held back a self-pitying sigh, his imagined stupidity distracting her from the constant agony. It was no surprise to her that he struggled to finish even that simple sentence and she spoke very slowly, humouring him as best her short temper would allow, “I am,” a pause as she decided whether to trust him, “Fiammetta.” and then her patience failed her, “Stop looking at me like a frightened rabbit! Being blessed by the flames is never an easy experience, but I wouldn't exchange it for anything. More than I could say about my meeting with the nameless black hellhound outside.”

Her stern expression melted into a pained one and she turned her face away so that Atlas wouldn't see that she had pushed herself too far and used up what little remained of her energy. Gingerly she placed her head on her paws, moving her cold body closer to the warm one nestled beside hers so that her head was positioned directly beneath his chin, the muddy patch that had distracted his attention now in plain view and perfect reach. He had only to flick out his tongue and lick it. If he dared.

OOC: no it was perfect, as always my Castle! Mine isn't exactly a jewel itself, I hope it won't be too difficult to answer...I know you sometimes lack for muse when it comes to Atlas
Fiammetta - Female - No Home - No Family - 5YO - 28 inches, 32 pounds