Who's Baby Is That?!

Devera tilted her head, and for a moment, her blue eyes seemed to shift to the slitted pupils expected of a dragon. Her nostrils flared, and she huffed, amused. No. But he's survived long enough that, with both parents near, he has a great chance. The babe suckled hungrily, until he was finished. She readjusted her clothing, and studied the warden before her.

He lifted Irim's basket higher, and she shifted to exchange infants. Basket once more in hand, she straightened awaiting his response. And for a moment, her face fell in such an animated fashion that it was extremely obvious.

"I shouldn't let you. You disappeared. A warden is a fixture, the first and last defense of Thedas and you..."

Her shoulders tensed, and she let her gaze dip to the child in the basket. She'd promised herself, if he refused her request, she'd leave the infant with him and flee. Devera hadn't expected him to deny her—

She's so focused on her thoughts, warring with the part of herself that is instinct first; and another part that's hurt, that she almost missed his last statement.

It took her a second to process, and she lifted her gaze from the child. Oh. She didn't have a future with the Constable; she wasn't as stupid to believe that what they had was anything more than her survival.

...but humans were fickle and strange. You... missed me? She furrowed her brows, and adjusted the basket in her grip. Why? She needed an answer; was there something she could play upon, some weakness she'd created? Or had he missed her strange ways, her ineptitude with social grace?

Blue eyes search Ragnar's features. Someone in a rush knocked into her as they passed, and she took two steps forward to steady herself, hoisting the basket so that it'd not bump into anything.

Irim grumbled and she rocked the basket slowly, gaze fixed on the man in front of her. The rest of the world might as well not exist; until she got her answer.