she is tired.

life is dull, droll, and all those other adjectives for boring. monotony is not something that the woman handles well yet it is the curse she's been dealt. the forest is a comfort but not a great one; she stays here because it is what she knows, but there is an itch in her paws that she is hard-pressed to ignore.

still, no matter her dour mood, there is work to be done.

summer brings heat, and heat brings humidity. the jungle is ruthless as the days heat, making her fur sticky even in the shade. and here, by the water, it is still rough. her tongue lulls from her mouth as she pauses, easing dark frame down onto the wet ground. the water is not particularly cold but it's still refreshing and she dunks her paws in with little fanfare. the excess moisture to rubbed into her face, her jowls -- wetting the dark fur there and cooling her without having to dunk her whole head underwater.

a brief respite, but it made the heat of the day somewhat manageable.

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She is something like a shadow to Sana. There is a mysteriousness to the dark woman and up until now it was easily to be at peace with that. She was a stranger. There were a lot of strangers in the world. But in this moment of quiet, where the world immediate was at peace with itself, and Sana could spy the older woman bathing through the leaves, she was overwhelmed with curiosity. Maybe her brain craved a few moments to think and not have to comprehend or content with emotions. A curious stranger, a pridemate nevertheless, was just the ticket.

Sana in her red cloak approached @Wylodine and when near the young woman cleared her throat to announce herself and her presence. 'scuse me.

even the dullest quiet brims with potential.

she goes through the motions of this -- literally, a repetitive motion that lulls her already-tired mind to boredom. it is a struggle to remain fixated in the moment and her paws seem to tingle with it. wylodine does not hear the approaching footsteps or the rustling of branches, but one moment there is quiet -- and the next, there is noise. and she, having been so devoid of it for so long, zeroes in on @Sana almost instantly.

hawkish, marred eyes slide to the yearling girl, her red fur stark against the dappled emerald green of the forest. yes, child? comes her voice -- quicker than she usually would respond ( a testament to just how lonely she has been ), her head stilling as she stares. is there something i can help you with? wylodine does not often get visitors here, in her section of the forest. surely sana has come for a reason -- and no matter what it might be, at least it is something.

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She could have easily been turned away. She was imposing, she didn't have reason or right to entertain the questions coming across her mind moment by moment the longer she looked at Wylodine.

And all she could manage to start... I'm not a child. She said with all the vigor of someone definitely still a child trying to convince herself, and not necessarily Wylodine, otherwise. Her vision was not focused on the other's dark face while she first responded but did come and fix into a manner of engagement once Sana very quickly gave up mentally trying to view herself as anything but small and a child.

Sana, my name is Sana. And even if she was a child she'd rather be called her name. You've lived here for a while right. Her form settled down into a sitting position across the way and with feet spread comfortably out. Around her hips her tail curled and settled close to her.

i’m not a child, the girl tries to argue — an explation hurt by the way sana nearly pouts. certainly not. at first, wylodine’s only reply is the quirk of a dark brow. after a moment, though, her throat rumbles out a small agreement. very well. she murmurs, a small pause as she looks at the girl -- russet red and gleaming. not a child, then. a small amendment, a subtle granting of this favor. a fully grown woman, if that’s how @Sana wanted to be treated. others might tut and mistreat her, mistake her youth for a garden to be trampled on.

but wylodine is more than happy to see what is offered — and everything that isn’t.

ears tip forward as the girl offers her name — easy as anything, without asking a thing in return. well, there is no question mark used but she can hear the question regardless. aye, she agrees, accent lilting, indeed, i have. before this king and before the last. the sovereign she had joined under had died for this very forest, had fed the vegetation with her own blood, yet her name is forgotten. no one whispers it besides the trees themselves. it is doubtful that sana wants to hear of sangria; instead, she is probably curious about the land itself. her muzzle twitches to the side by a small degree, patiently waiting for any explanation that just might come.

Why?

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It is more than she suspected. The dark graceful woman has been her before, and before, a witness to more change than just what Sana herself had lived through. I've moved many places with my family. As many as someone not a child like her could have at least. Cliffs, sands, trees, beyond. Sana had seen it all and known no loyalty to one place the way that Wylodine did. Her stability had been the earth itself, it seemed a more reliable friend than living breathing souls anyways so maybe she had something going here. Regardless, the stark difference intriqued Sana. Can I ask what's kept you here? She said with a tilt of her head. The elegant, but still oh so powerful, aura of this older woman begged for permission to be asked. It made Sana feel more appreciative of the time and attention she was being given.

@Sana offers a morsel, just enough to keep her interested. wylodine doubts the lioness does this on purpose, but it is still a far cry from the others in the rainforest. bold and brash and loud, they were liable to stomp all over her plants and her conversation. sana, though, is milder by contrast, and familiarity settles around her shoulders like a cloak. camaraderie can be found, even in the strangest of places — places where she might never have looked. your family? she asks, tail tuft twitching with benign curiosity. mild but reaching, pressing forward how she can. leaving the door open if sana wanted to mention say more, but her ears splay forward at the question.

it does not have an easy answer, but an answer comes regardless.

it is not my home, she murmurs, as if this explains anything. her tongue lulls in silence for a beat, as if wrestling with the next bout of words, before deciding upon: but — it could be. wylodine, despite her age, is quite inexperienced when it comes to matters of the hard. how long did you need to hang around a place to put down roots? for plants, it took weeks — maybe a few months for the really stubborn ones. but she has been here longer than that, and yet her feelings for the rainforest were still... mild. better here, though, then somewhere else.

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