Silver Creek moon dust in your lungs

The moment seemed to pass like hours, and she would have believed it, if the unmoving shadows didn't tell her otherwise. The leaves rustled above, sometimes obscuring his face from sight, sometimes obscuring hers. His utterance did little to sever the effect of his ethereal presence, and the whirl of the coming tempest paired with the nocturnal calls did little to turn her thoughts to interpretations more astute. For all she could decipher through scent and sight and sound, he was the embodiment of the night.

Yet he was a stranger, and whatever fabrications she wove for his life could not overwrite this one thing she knew. Whether or not he descended from the stars, she did not know him, and for this she remained on guard. The stranger held no bias in her one way or the other. Even as his hackles fell and rose, she watched through a slow and neutral burn. And at his gruff question, she offered the slightest tilt of her head. "I do not know these Mal'um." But she noticed an edge to him - seemingly buried, but there. Fear. And though he made her many things - wary, uncertain, alert - she didn't feel afraid - but she wondered which side of left and right these Mal'um stood on, and if maybe, she should feel afraid, too. "They follow you?"