Blackfoot Forest not even into another eternity

mona found her breath almost in the same instance the man from the flatlands materialized like an ivoried spectre in the darkened weald. heartbeart tripping once more, the witchborn steadied herself, digging paws against earth and turning her wary and half-green gaze upon him. in the lines of the feralman's body there was no malice; invitation of a silent sort. 
for perhaps a too-long stretch of time, the firebird — no, she was not that, she would never be that again — traced the movement of his tresses, windlicked; upon it came his scent, rock and water and loam, other things for which she did not yet have names.
on stiff legs she approached, her gait relaxing with each step; he was feline in the arch of musculature and bone; she saw in him a catlike mien that called to her despite her inexperience with such dichotomy. and when mona had found her footing before him, lasher's eyes in her own delicate head rose to meet the brilliant gilded mintage of his gaze, if only for a long second in a grander span of time.