Nymeria surveyed this interaction with a faint distaste inscribed around her eyes. It was disappointing to see how Lilómiel had changed over the ages; he'd once been as fierce as could be, quivering with malice and swollen with debauchery. After humilating defeats... after her brother acquired not only red but gold... much of his inflated ego had deflated. (A shame, she thought with a pang of longing; a warmonger would be handy.) It did not occur to her that she, being bound so tightly to him (and for so long) was as much a cause as his change as Brienne and Gwyneverre and Vérzés and Vadir.

The dragon inclined her head, gold horns glowing dimly in the winter light. Nym stood silent. It was difficult to tell if Isopia was upset at her intrustion or whether her comment was... only a comment. Just as the demigoddess struggled to read her, Nymeria's perceptions were distorted by Isopia's skull-marked face and behemoth size, her sterile tones and painfully neutral body language. She wondered if there was something more to the tribrid; as always, she watched and waited from a fracture in the impenetrable armor she wore.

Her ears shifted forward curiously.
My Father, well-
(What was that? A shrug, a ripple down her shoulder? Her Father--Father with a capital F.)

One brow shifted upwards in careful doubt. I'm sure that she was not one herself. Nymeria eased her weight from one foot to another, cocking a hind hoof to establish their interaction as the start of conversation. She does not rush into a reply (she doesn't feel the need to with Isopia) but instead considers the tribrid's reply. Equine, she thought idly; then she must have inherited the horns and wings from her father Father.

Her red eyes flick over the dragon once more. (I met this big raven-pegasus-equine-unicorn lady and she seemed reaaallly interested in Volterra's relationship with my mother—that is what Kid had told her.)

Kis holló. Little raven. Hungarian.

The evidence was far, far away from damning, but she pondered the possibilities anyways.

Instead Nymeria exhales slowly, letting a lazy smile roll over her mouth. She's tempted to be taunting, to let that smile crawl from lazy to cruel; instead she softens it, nudges it into the boundaries of tender friendliness. "You'd be surprised at the secrets loved ones keep." Red eyes shift away from gold: should I give an example? Confide and trust? No—not yet.

Better wait to wait and see what Isopia would say.