 I BOW MY HEAD TO THE SETTING SUN
Iona took a step back, examining their work for a moment before slogging her way out of the murky sea. The painted mare toes a particularly decrepit looking piece of driftwood onto the shore as she goes. A dark ear flicks towards the mare-of-many-colors, who Iona has decided she likes, when she hears a name linger in the air. She doesn’t offer her own name right away, as it’s evident that the mare has more to say. Soon she finds herself nodding in agreement as the mare dumps truth upon the bones of the shore. It seems that their disheveled companion had similar sentiments on the issue.
Greed. Certainly a powerful motivator, and she’d seen its power in this land where so many were tempted with magic and trinkets. She tries her best not to let the distaste to show on her features, but she doesn’t care much if it does. Ironic to think that the lead thief of the Edge is one who detests something like greed. But Iona isn’t one to hang on to her spoils for her own sake, though she knows that that doesn’t make her a noble thief either. It all boils down to her inherent distrust of magic. It always does, in this place. “Hear, hear,” she adds, in agreement.
Her eyes flicker between the two sea-loving creatures - Syrena, Tarik - names she files away into the deep abyss of her mind. Finally, she offers her own. “Iona,” she added, nonchalantly following their own introductions before her attention is drawn back to the pile of filth and bones.
”Tarik, I’m going to have to take you up on that drink if we’re going to carry all of that.” she muttered, with obvious distaste, as a frown tugged at her dark lips.
I O N A
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