The figure below shifted at the sound of her approach, despite her attempts to keep quiet and she steadied herself. It was still not immediately clear who lingered below, especially given that she did not know the other residents of the Dunes. It could be a marauder, out looking for easy targets for all that she knew.

It isn't until the creature speaks that Corvette places him, the sound of his voice giving shape to his inky figure in the gloom. For a moment, she is strangely hopeful that this chance encounter might override the apathetic impression she'd received in the Commons, but in that she remains unlucky. Though Lucifer does deign to acknowledge that she is there, he does not turn to her. And though one might mistake his abdication of the drinking pool to be an invitation, the broad swath of his rump facing her negates that idea.

Even the words he used were sapped of emotion, dead to her ears. No annoyance at her interruption, no warmth at her approach, no hostility at her proximity. There was simply nothing there apart from an almost supernatural ability to read and interpret her concern about predators.

For a long moment, silence greets his proclamation as she wrangles with her own emotions. She is frustrated at his apathy, but there is no outlet to be found for it here. She does not want to force his attention given he was so unwilling to give it. Even if she did manage to turn his eye, she would forever wonder if he looked at her purely out of obligation, rather than out of any kind of desire. And so though a part of her craves company, the rest of her is far too proud to lick the scraps of attention off his boots.

"Good to know," she calls down with forced neutrality. "I shall leave you to your bath." And she does, turning away from him to face the wide open expanses of the Dunes with a heavy heart.