[ Demure and unthreatening as a boy wearing his father's coat, Brandon seems to feel the chill of this land no matter the weather, which has as much to do with his own nature as it does the nature of the place. His heavy peacoat only makes him look more scrawny, but it is necessary for the carefully pieced together charms in its lining, as are the boots with runes and sigils carved into the soles. He leaves no footprints on the path, and he stops as soon as he sees her — all the little human signs of wariness and vulnerability in him easy to read. A change in breathing, tiny movements in the eyelids. The way his hand rises to the middle of his chest, something feathery fluttering in the cage of his fingers like one might imagine his heart to be.
Though it isn't. Not yet. He looks at her fleetingly, searchingly, and lowers his gaze again. Two Morrisons left, and she is not one of them. ]
Greetings. I've come to pay a tribute to Dinah... if that is you.
[ Not quite as sweet as he was for Qetzi'ah in the interest of being far more direct. That is his guess for what a hyena might prefer, if it is her. Haran seems to enjoy some artfulness, he should bow his head to Qetzi, but for Dinah, he will make every attempt to immediately prove more useful or entertaining alive and unhurt than as a mouthful of flesh. ]
no subject
Though it isn't. Not yet. He looks at her fleetingly, searchingly, and lowers his gaze again. Two Morrisons left, and she is not one of them. ]
Greetings. I've come to pay a tribute to Dinah... if that is you.
[ Not quite as sweet as he was for Qetzi'ah in the interest of being far more direct. That is his guess for what a hyena might prefer, if it is her. Haran seems to enjoy some artfulness, he should bow his head to Qetzi, but for Dinah, he will make every attempt to immediately prove more useful or entertaining alive and unhurt than as a mouthful of flesh. ]