Many scents always filtered through the caverns, most of which Naamah had come to ignore unless they were pleasing to her palate. With the children beneath her darkened wings she had very little time to go cavorting with strange males at strange hours of the day; though now that they are gone she may assimilate back into her old self.

Her mind is emptied of all emotions as reality sinks its teeth deeper into her consciousness. She is alone. She will forever be alone. Samil’s scent has been stagnant and fading since the day she had returned to Moladion, Enderly was shacking up with another female of his choosing, and her only remaining daughter hiding from wolven society. You would think that such things would not concern a she-devil like herself and yet over these years she has allowed mortal ways to corrupt and mold her mind. It is a difficult thing to be cast into this world and not allow their magical whims overtake you. Unfortunately for Naamah she has been affected for far too long.

A heavy sigh is breathed from her nostrils and blows up the loose dirt into a small cloud before her face. For now she is content to rest herself before reclaiming her temptress spirit, yet another does not wish her to be so. His voice reverberates through the rock walls in a deepened timbre, one akin to Samil’s own voice that nearly has her jumping to her paws. Petite ears cup forward as he speaks once more, oblivious of her location and yet wanting to draw her presence from the shadows all the same.

Her delicate head now raises as she listens further, though he makes no other words, and she allows a pregnant silent to linger just a bit too long. Knowing that she has, perhaps, irked him with her delayed response, she rises to her paws with a sly smirk. From her alcove she saunters forth, the darkness of the grotto clinging to her as if she had birthed it herself, and when the tiniest flicker of light hits him she is able to see his defining features. The most notable bit of him was the lack of his left ear, nearly all of it chewed off by some beast, and only leaving the fluffy tatters behind as a reminder of what once was.

Abyssal eyes follow from his white-marked face and down his entire body; every inch of it. He is clearly a handsome specimen from what she can decipher in the dim lighting, though her eyes catch upon one area laced with hairless scars upon his right foreleg. It is clear that he has fought for something of worth – or perhaps run into the wrong kind of crowd. Then again, maybe he was the wrong kind of crowd. The thought made her body nearly quiver in delight. How fortunate would she be to become wanted by one of such nature?

”You rang?” her voice lilts out in that characteristic smoothness Naamah was always capable of creating. She steps closer to him so that she may catch a clearer view, though it is doubtful that he will have much to look at, considering how well she blends with her shadows.