daria had no religion so to speak; a deep respect for the mother gaia as she ebbed and flowed with the changing of seasons and time, perhaps. a natural adoration for mother moon and father sun, though she could not explain her infatuation with how they shone down on her, silvery light or warm rays - this difference meant little to her. the delicately staged artworks were a strange superstition for a woman with a mind as daria’s, or maybe more fittingly, lack of one. they came from a deep, morbid curiosity, a place where her internal world became one with the physical, a place filled with childish awe for what had been and what was. there was no tragedy that she could put into words that had twisted her simple mind, created this fascination for the border of life and death, brought forth a love for that which no longer walked the earth. it had simply come, as most things did to daria, and in true fashion - there was no desire to pursue further thought to it.

she had not yet decided which direction to roam when He appeared, fresh white and smudged along his face. gentle face turned in the direction of His greeting, wide eyes observing neutrally as he jogged towards her. she stilled, waiting patiently for him to approach her. perhaps it said something, she might have pondered, that there was no sense of cautiousness, no feeling of suspicion. daria was by no means a fighter, but neither was there a sense to flee. her idle curiosity, the want for something new, something strange, kept her there without the unknown sensation of worry. she tipped her head in acknowledgement as He reached her, watching his face closely as he spoke. He smelled like none of the Homes she knew of here, only like wind and wolf and freedom.

”The pretty things,” she offered, lilting and soft. ”you like them?” she asked, rich violet pride rushing through her mind. the thoughts of others meant little to the she-wolf, not unless there were New Things to be learned, but the inquiry stirred a piece of her that preened with the recognition. ”Interesting Things, Pretty Things,” she wondered aloud, ”becoming one.” brilliant teal rolled through her in waves, and a crooked, somewhat toothy grin flashed briefly over her face before fading; expressions that required thought came as easily to her as words did. she moved onwards with a newfound purpose, veering left and pausing to look over her shoulder at the ash-smudged man. ”come?” she asked, ”show you.” it was short, and perhaps a little expectant, but not unkind. there was a sense of wanting to share, touches of rich orange intertwining with the brilliant yellows and teals through her mind. a desire to bring one of her visions to life for the gentleman, to offer a glimpse into her scattered mind, where everything blended into one.