More boldness spiked through the air – and he laughed because she exhibited it too, and the mischief, the devilry, the chicanery, the dark, daring bits of his blood thought it was monstrously entertaining and funny. He savored dauntlessness and valor, strung it together in the whole of his muscles and the fibers of his flesh, clenched it between his teeth, stole it from the heavens and wrenched it from the earth – plunged headlong into fire and brimstone when fearlessness gathered behind his eyes and consumed every essence of his blackening soul. Amused, diverted, he paid in kind to her sweeping bits of exuberance and audacity, pledged mirth through the length of his Cheshire grins and dashing arch to his brow as she inspected him, as he became part of her riveting conjectures. He even extended his chin forwards so she might have a finer perusal (and suddenly he chuckled again, let the reverberation pierce through his soul – as if he was back with Aithniel, Rikyn, and Adelric, running rampantly through streets and villas of mountains and snow, thrown together with foretold treachery and delusions of grandeur). He beamed, crowned her with the opportunities to examine and scrutinize the lengthy tufts of hair growing from beneath his muzzle, a careful blend of ivory and sable, folds of the Stygian sea and the ivory snow. “Thank you,” he marveled in a show of nods and bestowals, because she’d given him a gift in the form of assurance (if only for the tufts of fur laden along his jowls), and he’d been bereft of it for too long. “I like your smile,” he winked, in a show of great faith and insolence (for he was a beast dragged from Lucifer endeavors; impudence and sedition had a face and it was poised between embers, allure, and appeal), neither bothered nor entangled by her candidness. It was refreshing to not be caught in the knots and gnarls of anger and wretchedness, or to attempt to decipher a situation he was unfamiliar with – but silliness, antics, nefariousness he knew well.
 
So he watched her carefully, followed her movements and motions with impish intent, the kind found in naughty children waiting for the right moment to strike – but she appeared aloof, no longer riveted on one thing or another, painting the backdrop in splashes of pink and white. The prince’s head tilted again and Orsino grumbled from somewhere beyond (ignored – there were no enemies or adversaries to rip, maim, and tear here, just a curious girl who liked his hair and came from nowhere, nowhere at all). “We all start from somewhere.” Erebos snorted a bit and arched his brow again at her, like his sister had done many times before when she called his bluff, knowing, understanding, full well that she eclipsed and hid the bounty of secrets and enigmatic twists beyond the rosy veil. The defiance clawed and rasped at him once more, curled and coiled over his tongue (wanting to know more than just the overall nothingness), but she managed to twist him in another direction. “No, this isn’t my home.” The ebon kitsune shuffled to and fro along a channel of wood and brush, and the warrior laughed, kindly, not entirely savage, not entirely virtuous. “This is the Threshold, the gateway to Helovia.” He turned a little, gesturing with his chin towards the north, where the lights flickered in various hues, where the auroras gathered, where the summits reached for the skies and couldn’t be denied their constant aching, yearning desires to be dominant and enduring. “The Basin is this way – through some valleys and wood, until you come upon one narrow path to the mountains.” His head swung back towards her, the regal grin still in place. “Where do you want to go from here?”