The dingo trotted along, quiet and pensive. She was nearly an adult now, that inner fire burning within her driving her to fight, kill, eat, lounge in the orb-light, and sleep at her leisure--all with a spark in her gaze and triumph in her heart.

Even losing a battle she found it difficult to back down, to calm herself. She never knew when to quit.

Perhaps that'd be the death of her.

Even now her amber eyes were catching the light of Eridanus, sending firelit flashes through their golden depths.

She was on the hunt--on the prowl--and though her encounters with larger Gembounds had left her more cautious, there was still very little she wouldn't at least attempt to take on.

The question is, what would she run into first? Thin threads of natural magic twined their way through her, thrumming along her nerves and senses, the dingo feeling with not only sight, smell, and hearing but that esoteric thrum of heartbeats and the rush of blood of mice and songbirds, seeking potential prey.

((ooc -- Belladonna will be poked!))

The twins had decided to patrol outside of their comfort zones. Nettle was itching for a fight and for new surroundings, for the silence of the dead city was driving him crazy without his sister talking to him. They spent every moment together, and he wouldn't have it any other way, naturally, but....he was restless and eager for some sort of event to occur. There was only too much empty peace one could take.

So he lead them to Eridanus, with Fever following quietly along. She wasn't making eye contact with him, and it was making him feel thunderous, ready to break something apart. He'd done everything he could to keep her safe. Everything. And for some reason unknown to him, she wouldn't even give him the time of day.

He couldn't wait to take out this unspoken frustration and tear something apart.

He just didn't get it. How could she say out loud to him, 'Oh, I can't stand looking at you anymore because of your cave-awful scars I gave you?'

She was a terrible gem. She was the worst. And as the empty, yawning, expectant silence grew between them, and as Nettle waited for her to speak, the guilt weighed heavier on her the more that time passed by. She had ruined her brother, and there was nothing she could do to remedy it. No apology could undo what she'd taken from him.

So she watched him get restless in the silence, watched him kick rocks and sharpen his horn against stone and pace away from her with judging looks wrapped in a form of sorrow and loss.

Yes, it was all her fault. And there was nothing she could do.

"...Nettle..." She started to say.