You hear her name kiss your ears, as if that would be some comfort right in this moment, but before you can respond you are already on your way away from her, trying to shut me out and not noticing her sudden flare up of the wings. She tries to act taller to be intimidating to you, yet you give her no more notice, as your teeth are raking harshly into your coat to curry out the dirt deep within your pores. I can only chuckle at your grumpy demeanor now, your ungrateful air to the dam who essentially saved your life. Of course, I hate the fact that the bitch saved you, but nonetheless I expected you to be the more grateful type. But instead you are cleaning away, digging deeper and deeper into your skin as if trying to dig me out. I am not there imbecile, no matter how much you mar your pretty pearly coat, I shall forever remain. Apparently miss Faeanne approved of your unacknowledgement, for soon she is kicking dirt at you from the edges of the spring, looking rather irritated and snorting at you.

As the clumps of dirt fall you flinch, jolting forward suddenly in fear as your eyes turn wild, looking to her and cowering at the opposite end of the pool. I still forget how much of a pussy you really are. Your face grows dark at my comment and I can only cackle at your response, watching you quiver in rage at my harassment while still being assaulted by dirt clumps. Soon one hits your face, causing you to squeal, throwing your head back and rearing up suddenly. A big splash follows as you land down, hitting your face and bursting forward towards her direction, though if that was intentional neither of us are certain. You watch her as the waves settle, staring at her like she was a starving predator, head now down and ears flattened, waiting for something from her.

Your dense mind doesn't seem to comprehend how to respond to her, how to work with her, and so I'm forced to simply watch you stand there like an idiot, never moving until you feel you're ready to make your next move. Come on Timmy... surely you have more intelligence than that? You are supposed to be afraid of me, only me, and what I will do to you. Not this sparkling she-bird that seems to suddenly crave your attention. Perhaps she is in season and is desperate for a mate. That could be the only explanation if she's settling for you. I can feel your face burning hot in embarrassment, the pink slightly noticeable beneath your ivory coat, before soon you're lifting your head, ears still flat, but mint eyes meeting gold. You still remain silent and simply have a staring contest, which only makes you look even more idiotic. Stop being a fool Timothy, fucking tell her your name. Say hi, thank you, anything. I'm here to torture you, not teach you how to talk to fucking chicks.

She's rude, you respond to me thoughtfully, for once listening to me instead of cowering. I don't approve of this in one bit, you must fear me. I am not your aid, your advisor or friend, and for you to think of me as such will only hurt you in the long run. Perhaps I'm simply lying to you in order for you to make an even bigger fool of yourself, though you seem to be doing quite an exquisite job by yourself without my assistance. Your eyes leave hers briefly to look away, your face still thoughtful as everything fills your brain, as I continue to haunt your mind with my conflicted responses. It seems even that I'm confusing myself. That what seems to happen whenever a female is present. As soon as your eyes meet again a new sense of courage seems to overcome you, and although you don't take a step towards her, you respond to her in a rather gruff, quiet tone," Timothy." Once the words escape your parched lips, you watch her for another heartbeat, as if expecting her to suddenly lunge on you, before finally returning to your grooming.