His attitude changes almost as quickly as her temper had risen, and Gwyn looks at him with light blue eyes that are cold, and flash dangerously as a little girl's might, her tail still twitching and swishing in anticipation of something more. He was weird, and not like her father at all, she determines while he praises her wit and strength, as if he hadn't just talked to her like she was a lost doll. Her right brow rises slightly, and another snort breasts the air, a white cloud dancing out from her black nostrils.
“Thanks,” she flatly remarks after a long pause, shaking her muzzle in the way she'd seen adults do, when dismissing a thought; were all dragons this weird? No wonder the unicorns of the north hadn't been able to get along with them, if it was so. She hadn't been alive long, but Gwyn did know that most adults didn't seem to tolerate her "moods" (as her father had deemed them) anywhere near as complacently as Roscorro presently was.
His question makes her look up from the fire with widened eyes, finding that she had forgotten what the question pertained to in her frustration with Roscorro's unusual and clumsy acceptance of her poor temperament. Taking a second to remember, the girl's look of ponderance becomes a frown, one ear flipping back to catch the perfectly timed howl of some frightened beastie in the darkness beyond the ring of light that the fire casted. Though her initial response is no, she holds her tongue, and instead runs her eyes over the rather physically domineering fellow. This time, rather than seeing annoying, confusing Roscorro, she sees protection, or at least someone to hide behind, if necessary. Though the knight in question is certainly not Gwyn's preferred variety (though she hadn't a clue what her preferred variety was, either), she supposes that it was better to be bothered by some bumbling dragon man than eaten by a beastie.
“I guess you can stay with me,” she says, looking at Roscorro as she sternly adds, “just until I find my dad, though.”
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Solanis
