Adonai's ears pressed back against her head, and she sidestepped away from Eden's examining of her; even though she knew it was just for show, it made her no less uncomfortable. She became a bit nervous when his face did not move, no words of jest were spoken-- for a moment, she even considered seriously the ramifications of such a thing being entirely true-- but when his question came she breathed a silent sigh of relief. The girl clicked her tongue, turning away in something akin to annoyance. "Et loquebatur de Nari, avus." (I was speaking of Nari, grandfather.) She glanced back towards him, a sly smirk upon her lips. It was a false show of confidence. She would play his games up until a certain point, but something about the joke itself made her skin crawl. Conditioning, perhaps, from her mother. A relationship should be initiated and continued by the woman.

"Nullum mendacium veterascit, avus. Sed si non erant, ut non sit similis ad tecum attuleris ad nuntium mater mea." (A lie, grandfather. But if it were not, I should like to see you bring that news to my mother.) Her tones were even, neutral, but she could not shake the prickly feeling from her pelt. Adonai attempted to move on, brushing it off into the sand as they walked, but it lingered at the back of her mind like a burr. He hadn't been serious, but what if he had? She would, ultimately, be powerless to stop anything like that from happening. The thought left a peculiar and unpleasant taste in her mouth. The girl turned her gaze away from her grandfather, looking in the direction of her mother's den, playing it off as a natural progression.

Eden, however, seemed to have not noticed her moment of discomfort. She listened to his words carefully, giving a small 'hm' of acknowledgement as he finished. She must think. He answered often in riddles, and he had not said that his answer would be in any way a straightforward answer. Asking him about her father would be too direct, and truly that was not what was on her mind. Her family was a mystery even to her, and the sire she'd never known was as much a part of their family as the rock they had passed a few seconds prior. Adonai paused in her steps, turning around to face him, eyes of icy blue and violet meeting his piercing copper gaze.

For a moment, she rested there, staring at him intensely and evenly. She was her mother's daughter, in this moment, passionate and unpredictable. But she was also wholly unique-- Adonai, with the gifts of secrecy and subtlety. "Qui occisus es, Avus?" (Who have you killed, Grandfather?) Her voice did not lose it's unaffected tones, remaining calm and quiet even as the inflammatory words left her lips. For she knew it must be someone, or perhaps many. And it would bring her ever closer to finding out the secrets kept hidden away under the ocean's waves.