Omen descended with great tedium into the moonlit heart of the Altar's lush-green lowlands. She would pause every few steps and scan her surroundings sluggishly before proceeding. The onyx sibyl made it all the way to centerfield without being disturbed. There she seemed to settle, standing for a while to observe the endless night and a googleplex of stars gazing back at her. At some point she reclined on lean haunches, and then— transfixed by the infinity she saw— wound up on her back, lost and luxuriating in the metaphysical pleasure she got from merely existing under the bask of a gibbous moon. She writhed in the grass, and ignored the creeping vine of loneliness she felt rising up along her spine. No, she wouldn't let that get to her.
The girl felt like starshine.
She'd been so sure she was alone, but it wasn't moments into her bask that she found herself disturbed by the call of another. The young wolf tensed, flipping onto her stomach as a trilling of fear, and some shade of guilt, seized her up. She dug her claws into the loam, prepared to spring away from the large, glowing brute that drew nearer and nearer still— but she didn't flee from him immediately.
Upon closer inspection, he seemed much less aggressive than she had been startled into imagining at first. His aurelian fur had been bleached by the tall moon, and his warm, dulcet voice lured her further into remaining... for now. Her ears folded back, and she tried not to look too offended— trying to appear above it all— though she was clearly a bit flustered. "I thought I was alone," she said with quiet defensiveness instead of answering his question.