Arialla's self-preservation instincts fail her today, badly. She doesn't hear the implicit threat in Wessex's voice, or, if some part of her does pick up on it, she chooses to ignore it. With a jagged-edged smile, Arialla says, "That's the dream."
But Arialla can hardly miss the hostile intent in that razor-sharp feather. She jumps aside, or tries to; the feather grazes her bare calf on its way past. Stumbling in the sand, Arialla glances up at Wessex with fear, yes, but also anger. She's not used to living in a world where her words and hostility have actual consequences. "What was that for? You just attack people you don't like now?"
please don't take my sunshine away
