That pulls a smile from her, faint but amused. Kelytha means horse. Easy to name something its name, just like when she calls a wolf a wolf in the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. Seems they've a few things they share in common.
Her focus drifts to Jon. "Some were always fearless." But she speaks of shifters and centaurs, not actual horses. It's not the same, as he'd likely remind her, oh so helpfully. "Kelytha's the luxury of time, I would say."
Assuming any of them have time, she doesn't say. Why even think it? That grave Stark-ness must be rubbing off on her.
"When we go to meet Poe--that's the one who will spin the illusion for them," a nod to the dragonets, "He'll need something of each. I think it's to bind the illusion to each of them, specifically."
It's a name but not a name all at once - another language, another tongue, meaning something simple but with warmth to it as well. Kelytha is going to be a good steed, a good horse, and she is going to do what she can to take care of her budding pack; her horse, her dragon, her bird, her friends. Dany and Jon are... Something, something that is hard for her to name, but...
She is careful as she looks between them, her gaze awkward and unsure before she breathes out. They're accepting of her, of her strangeness, her oddness, and she can accept it.
"I will get her to give me something," Lauralae nods, careful. She won't push Urmyria, but she is sure if she asks nicely enough... "If you trust in this... Then I will as well."
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Her focus drifts to Jon. "Some were always fearless." But she speaks of shifters and centaurs, not actual horses. It's not the same, as he'd likely remind her, oh so helpfully. "Kelytha's the luxury of time, I would say."
Assuming any of them have time, she doesn't say. Why even think it? That grave Stark-ness must be rubbing off on her.
"When we go to meet Poe--that's the one who will spin the illusion for them," a nod to the dragonets, "He'll need something of each. I think it's to bind the illusion to each of them, specifically."
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She is careful as she looks between them, her gaze awkward and unsure before she breathes out. They're accepting of her, of her strangeness, her oddness, and she can accept it.
"I will get her to give me something," Lauralae nods, careful. She won't push Urmyria, but she is sure if she asks nicely enough... "If you trust in this... Then I will as well."