Time to Breathe

[Tenzin]

Still lounged on the chair, the book now folded in her lap, Tenzin watched the woman finally enter the den. Dust and blood filled her nostrils as she tracked the stranger's stiff movements. A pronounced limp marked her passage across to the fridge, and though Tenzin relied more on scent than sight, even to her eyes this one was a mess; something had fought hard for its last breath, more violent than anything else she had seen since touching down on Russia's dirt. A sister come to lick such serious wounds blossomed a warmth of camaraderie in her chest, followed by a painful squeeze as she realised just how lonely she had been these past weeks.

"Tenzin Dolma."
She had no surname, but doubted the American would understand such and did not bother to clarify. Neither of those were the most precious of her names anyway, though she'd never dare tell the lama that. Her head tilted. She hadn't yet taken a blink away from the stranger, though her gaze was more inquisitive than guarded. She sensed the sharp underlying wariness, strung tight like two predators stuck in a cage, and resisted the urge to yawn out the tension. It was too wolfish a reaction, and much as she welcomed the stranger as pack, some secrets must remain so. Instead she smiled bright white teeth, and hummed out a scoff of laughter. "In my hair. Such funny sayings."


A root around in the cupboards apparently revealed what was sought. A slosh of liquid into a mug later, and a sense of comfort rippled. For a moment Tenzin was uncertain whether or not to just go back to her reading; this one gave off strong solitary vibes, and a pack could be perfectly comfortable without words. But then the other woman offered out the drink. Tenzin's dark brows rose, lips twitching with a hint of amusement. There was no sin in it. At least so long as she did not get intoxicated.

She grinned and held out her hand for the bottle. "Killed it, yes? A toast?"