following the tall mountains in the periphery of the flatlands, her first strides of freedom have been nothing but like tripping gleefully in seven-league boots. 

the yearling’s head was abuzz, a beating cicada hum, as spring unfurled around her. jordan didn’t mind trading beech trees for wide open expanses, the canvassing plains were just a well-placed allusion to her new life.

no more bit players and no more beech trees.

watching as a covey of grouse went routinely through the grass reminded her of her cousin’s made-up tales of the grouse thicket king and how he almost damned all life in the hollow for stealing all the berries. it was only when her cousin realized she was staring at his skinny arms gesticulating about his head did he stop and plant them as if shoving them in pockets, suddenly self-aware.

she felt a little bad as his mother had just passed that week, and he was just tiring out his little heart anyway he could out of grief, but god. he was incessant.

the girl jumped the little covey, kicking them up in dust clouds and switchgrass, laughing as the covey exploded in an inelastic collision.

what she did not expect to witness descend on her, was a man as large as this. with a long, practic gait that accommodated a one-man regiment, the girl could've sworn it was two infantry soldiers in a black and blonde trench coat.

jordan clued into the wolf scents he brought along with him. maybe the would descended in a less frightening collegiate manner.

or form a (literal) landmark case against her. with teeth. 

so maybe she should practice giving more thanks. "oh, erm, hello," her face was imitative of a child getting caught sticking their unwashed hands in the cookie jar, "hope i haven't intruded your ... very, very lovely home. i was just asking your neighbors about the best places to eat down here." 

she chuckles wryly.