Maraigh had left the Common long ago and she had taken her time to come here. There was no real reason, except for the grudge she was carrying towards him for marring her coat. She was a prideful woman, and she know how smooth and sleek she was to most eyes. It was in the way that she carried herself; the slender figure she had that was so similar to her mother’s fine physique. She did not have her colour though; her mother (though the bitch had never cared for her at all) had been painted red, like blood.

She had heard it matched feral, prideful disposition.

The woman’s nostrils curled in annoyance as she walked along the edge of Paradise, lips curled and tight across her teeth. At least the boy who had touched her had some kind of brain in his head, unlike the one who had tried a year or so ago to touch her and make her his. He had been an idiot, thinking he could sweet talk her around.

He should have been happy she didn’t remove his manhood.

This land smelt of him, and other mingling scents. There were others, and she wondered briefly how many he had dragged her into here.

Maraigh halted away from all of them. She had no desire to mingle, and it was only made stronger by the way she craned her head away. At least, not yet – she was not the type to introduce herself, more so when she was still feeling irritated.

So she stood there, golden and silver in the sunlight, and wondering why it is that he had seemed so set on claiming her as his own, when he had others.