Wapun Meadow be gentle as you tear me apart

@Blackfell !!!

with delicate movements, winselt found herself drifting across a snow-kissed meadow. where wildflowers must've bloomed beautifully in the spring, now stifled by the powdered snow. it would be so beautiful, she found herself wistfully dreaming. her heart ached and yearned to frolic in the flowers, and yet, she'd have to wait. 

ever the patient, she would, but with sorrow. silky, willowy fur cloaked her petite frame as she meandered, eyes dim where they used to shine with life, with hope. although she'd met the mountain man, @Cole, a few days prior, and he'd offered her a wondrous company; he had to return home, to his pack. leaving her alone and frightened once more. 

she often found herself gazing out at the horizon, expecting to see his looming figure standing tall and resolute. only, this time when she gazed upon it, there was a different figure. unfamiliar, intimidating. her tail tucked between fragile legs, small ears planing sideward in uncertainty. this man did not smell like cole, the southern gentleman she'd been hoping to meet again. 

he smelled crisper, darker. she wasn't sure if she liked it. "hello?" her gentle, unsure voice carried across the wind like a whisper.

blackfell paused mid-stride, his head tilting slightly as the soft voice reached him. it drifted like a breath of wind, floating about him like snow drift. his fern-green eyes locked onto the woman—delicate—across the snow. a chuffed in amusement. his gaze flicked over her, taking in her tucked tail, her sideward ears, the faint quiver in her stance. fragile. scared. a willow caught in the wind. his lips twitched, not quite forming a sneer but close enough to suggest a hint of disdain for her apparent frailty.

when he finally spoke, finally grew closer upon lumbering steps, his voice was low, rough. you’re a long way from home, he speaks and his voice is more a growl than anything.

he didn't know where her home was, of course, but he knew it wasn't here.

sage eyes widened, and within them danced the fear that seemed to have crawled into her bones and made a home. he was nothing like the mountain man—grizzly, uncouth. a barbarian, the men she'd been taught to avoid. 

he stepped closed, prompting her to take a few steps backward. that low rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but for all the wrong reasons. her eyes fell and averted, submissive, subservient. the submission that was bit and clawed into her. 

"i—i am, yes." her voice nearly trembled, like a leaf in the wind. "i'm from the west coast. who are you?" not out of formality or politeness, though her tone was hardly unfriendly. just timid.