Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

mona did not know what to make of the man — his face had closed to her and his step was detemined. his mien cold, but he had accepted her invitation after all, had he not? keeping pace alongside stigmata, mona's head spun with contemplation of her presence nearby: was he annoyed? belatedly, the cardinal realized she had not introduced herself, but the moment had passed. if the silver-eyed serpent wished her name, mona assumed he would ask for it.
she too settled to the hunt, unable to still the churning of her thoughts, but intrigued by the whitefluff tail of the lapin as it easily moved beyond the reach of the wolven pair. deeper they moved. here too were more rabbits; the mayfair lowered her muzzle to the earth and began to scout for a warren, lifting her head once to watch stigmata with a doelike wariness. perhaps it was best if she did not take the lead on this particular search.