She is glad to be given this glimpse into a person that had been brash and angry, back in the commons where she had stood when he charged up to her, with alleged determination in his eye; turn into someone that could, perhaps, smile.

Standing next to him, she does not feel small- at least, in the manners of height and build. Though naturally thinner and more delicate around the edges (not to mention, it had been a while since she had been able to forage properly), she finds herself at the same height as the stallion. A comfort, when amongst all the others she had been considered short in stature, despite the height that her father had given her. Comfort; an interesting thing for her to be thinking of when she had been so close not too long ago, to telling Encantador that he should bite his tongue before she does.

In a manner of speaking.

Whilst drinking, it’s like she can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t mind. The moonlight hides most of her hideousness that had come with the starvation of the desert, despite the dust that had rolled up in her skin and how her ribs were only just beginning to show through her smoky skin. He is allowed to look at her, of course. Their voices are hushed as they speak near the oasis, even as he cracks a joke. “Well, if you have any axes lying around…” Sova muses, quietly, somewhat playfully, her dark eyes turning towards the moon for a second as though deep in thought… planning her massacre. A small smile, spreading across her grey lips, forms under the night sky, and she finds herself thinking of what to tell him about herself. Suppose there isn’t much to tell, aside from why she returned to the islands.

“Well, alright.” Eyes dropping back to earth, she shifts her weight, as though getting ready for a long story. Just for the effect. “My mother and I left the islands when my father disappeared. I came back because she found a family… I found my father, who really isn’t as glamorous as she made him out to be.” A little huff of a sigh in frustration, a furrowing of the nonexistent eyebrows. “My mother was a cripple, I think she got tired of me taking care of her. So I came here.” Another small smile. “Found someone who looked broken, who, thank god, wasn’t.” Then she thinks for a moment. There’s more to tell, obviously, but that’s the abridged version, and she shouldn’t want to bore him to tears, naturally. “What about you, not-so-broken-boy?”

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