Wasula thought his confusion was rather amusing. He always seemed so surprised at what she might say. Old or young, he was prickly about his age like a young an untried warrior who wished so badly to prove himself. Did he think she would be friendly and amendable, truly? Why should she be? He was a stranger using her as a pawn to get what he wanted. It was the way of his people. 

But that didn't mean she had to like it. A grudge? None so deep, perhaps, but really what reason did she have to like or trust him? His people were always showing one face and holding another close to their heart. One could smile and speak sweet words one day, then spew venom and malcontent the next. Like the winter season with its pale beauty and slowly killing kiss. 

While there was a bitterness in her heart for his winter coloring, she could not bring herself to hate him with reason. She didn't mind him much, though Wasula didn't quite like his negotiating skills. But if she had purely disliked him, she would have rejected his mission entirely, and loudly at that. But this young cowhand seemed a little more sweet sap than bitter bark. 


He smiled like spring sun after a steady rain. She could see his handsomeness a bit better, though his features were still rather alien to her. Her dark eyes could also see the glimpses of the boy he used to be, as well as the man he might become someday. Was he so adamant to prove himself to impress more than just the people of South's Valley, then? A young maiden captured the arch of his bow and bade him forward? A knowing smile curved her lips. She was not so old and bitter beyond her young years to leave [i]all[/i] romanticism behind.

A pleasant cause, gaining back stolen horses to gain honor so that the heart of maiden could be won. Wasula had hoped for something similar from a young warrior two or three summers back. Her elder brother had swiftly put an end to all of that. It was in his nature. While this young Old Man had the caress of winter in his coloring, her brother had it in his heart and actions.

"A 'nickname'?" She mused before continuing, "Ah, ah, ah, yes. A name of likeness. Well, call me as you like, but different names will earn different actions." And by that she meant if he called her something nice, she would respond a bit nicer. Any slur and he might not like tugging on the ear of the little she-wolf. Her dark hair fell down her back as she raised her head and gave him a faint smile. 

"Very well," she nodded once, taking lead of their walk, her steps sure and swift, "This Sharp-Tongued Woman will lead you. But mind no foot of yours falls into a burrow. Broken ankles do not carry men to places they seek very quickly." It was just a small jest, but by her subtle influx of tone it might be hard to tell. That and without her expressive eyes, her mood was a bit more brisk and difficult to translate.  

"If you fall," she continued, "I may have to call you by another 'nickname' and you might have to call me She Laughs." Her soft huff of a laugh answered his chuckle. As for his little deal, she gave another small huff. "Why should a bet be made on a fact that is known?" Her rich voice held some mirth to it, "If This One knows it and I suspect it, then it is a known bet to whom the loser will be." She gave a bit more of scoff and turned her cheek to raise a brow at him. "Why should I fall into a game where I know I will lose?" 

"That," she turned to face forwards once more, "and I have much liking to call you by other names. It makes your face show many colors and expressions." Her dark hair swung behind her like a laughing painted woman's veil. Teasing him seemed to bring her a bit more than light pleasure. The rest of the way was lead with little talking on her part, though they got to her and her brother's camp the sun was far brighter. Morning gave to the fresh start of day and the 'camp' as she had called it... Well it was quite difficult to tell apart from the plains itself.

The tall grass was only brushed down a bit around a lone standing tree, a thin stream snaking its way through the rock and roots secretively. There was no horse, no tent, not even a foreseeable fire pit. If her brother had lit any fire, usually during the night and only for quick cooking, the ashes were buried under small rocks. Any belongings were strung high up in the tree's branches, which Wasula nimbly climbed up to rifle through. The area where the grass had been pushed down was the area where she had woken up alone just that morning. 

Fitting the valuables up, up, up, deep in the branches of the tree where even the Young Man could not see, the dark haired woman came back down almost as quietly as she had gone up. Every agile move seemed to come in time the rustling of the trees leaves and every motion she had made while up there had been just as soft. 

Once more on the ground with the Young Man, Wasula looked at him. Wind swept over the grass and across her cheek, her dark silk hair brushing against her cheek. "I have done as I said," she tilted her head towards him, her crystal clear expression somehow both open and yet yielding nothing all at once, "We now go to your hut."

So he had said himself. And leaving the 'camp' it was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape, besides the lone tree. Though in truth one lone tree looked like many others. Without Wasula to guide to [i]which[/i] tree, it would be extremely difficult for the untrained eye. Though even a seasoned Hunter would have difficulties finding a camp that did not belong to him.