The silver haired witch suppresses the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips as he utters a simple ’Oh’ in response. He had asked for honesty had he not? Well, maybe not in quite so many words but she felt like being honest with him nonetheless.

He glances away for a moment, as if the words had somehow broken his train of thought or sent his mind racing down another path that he never expected to find himself on. Was he imagining that she would abandon her ties with Quinn to bring him beneath her wing? Was he imagining what it might be like, to have the venomous witch nestle against his throat and whisper honeyed words into his ears? She liked to think it did. Of course that would not happen. She had lost what could have been called her heart long, long ago when Bjorn turned his back on her and the life she fought tooth and nail to build for him. What was left, Quinn earned with his silver tongue and undoubting loyalty. He was the sly to her cunning and the wisdom to her thoughtless plans. Why would she risk losing the stability of that foundation for a youth still fresh and unfamiliar with the world as a whole?

’I appreciate your honesty…and compliment.’ it took him a moment but the response comes nonetheless. The coy grin shifts into something far more neutral in delivery and spreads itself easily across her lips. She does not bother to outright reply, merely inclines her finely dished muzzle towards him in acknowledgement. It was not often that any thanked her for her words however tactless they might appear to be. It was a welcome reprieve from the forked tongue politicking she had become a part of more and more as of late.

He apologizes for not being an agreeable prisoner and to this notion she releases a soft toned chuckle. What prisoner ever was agreeable? The fact that he had come without too much fuss and continued to remain long after she had relinquished the tight leash of watchfulness spoke more than the careful guarded words he offered her now. Was there some kind of discord between himself and the herd stallion? Was the prairie leader his sire, hoping to free himself of one too many sons still tucked beneath his wing? A single flute twitches as she turns her near black gaze away from him, scanning the distant hills of sand for signs of danger. ’I would like to go home to the Prairie….’ his voice cause her mahogany ears to tilt back towards the sound of his voice. Despite her careful skill, she cannot detect much in his voice aside from caution and apprehension. Did he really fear her retribution so much? Was the Prairie at the helm of such a weak leader that there was worry she might come for them all? Twisted as it was, the thought made her smile. Perhaps more knew of her than she thought.

She turns her unreadable gaze upon him once more, shifting the weight of her slender frame so that she is angled to face him; to study his carefully guarded features and hopeful eyes. ”Why the Prairie?” the question is delivered alone so that it hangs for a moment in the still air between them. ”Why are you in suddenly in such a rush to return to the place that let you wither and fold? Would you not be more interested in seeing the other islands? Making a name for yourself? Salem has settled across your shoulders well, maybe even here you might find yourself a place of your own.” she finishes, her neatly cupped ears tipped forward as her eyes studied him for a response.