She grabbed me by the arm and sharply pulled me to her. Her people, the normal ones, are typically unkind towards mine.
Her breath smells strongly of mint; what a cold flavour mint is. It intertwined in swirling clouds with the harsh fall air in biting into me.
"Talk." she stated bitterly with angry undertones. It was not a question, a 'will you speak with me' like those I've heard spoken between them. It was a statement. I would talk to her, or at least she thought I would.
She tightened her hold on my arm, her black fingernails dug into my skin. "Talk," she said again only this time she was less certain of herself or of my response.