The Heartwood [m] three shots 'cause the neighborhood gets scared

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backdated to the 15th.

She gave the other packs a wide berth, not wanting to get chased out before she even got close. Diantha was no fool. She knew the women of these packs would not hesitate to come for her throat. To them, she was a threat. To the men, well... she knew what she was to them. A slice to be devoured.

The girl's eyes darted back and forth as she trekked through yet another wooded area, keen to keep herself a moving target.

When he did not guard the borders of Moonspear he hunted for his fellow comrades. When he did not hunt for his fellow comrades he kept eye on the herds. When he did not track the herds, he found himself in the shadows of the raindrop woman—eager to seek her warmth on cold winter nights in her ulaq.

And when was not warming the bed of Sialuk, he found himself scouting the areas nearby—thus his presence in the Heartwood.

The silver man moved with the noiseless grace bestowed upon him by a basilisk-like father. Stone and ice, he wove through the trees, and when he caught the tantalizing scent of another, he did not hesitate to explore it—icy eyes grazing over her form as he found her, treading quiet and alone in the forest.

A silent predator approached, and he was nearly upon her before Diantha noticed him. She masked her surprise, halting to study him with a curious stare. What kind of man was he? What would he want of her—aside from the obvious? And what name would she wear for him, if any at all?

She would let him make the first move.

She was unreadable to him—eyes stern upon him, though alight with something he believed to be interest.

He could have stopped and requested information. He could have mollified her with conversation, and found more about her. He was curious, after all—but there was a stolen moment where the man felt more inclined to allow the wilderness to speak for him—and with a step forward, he tentatively made to scent at her—a healthy creature, robust.

His own stance was neutral—giving pause should she wish to inspect him as well.

He stepped toward her, and Diantha did not flinch. She took in his scent. Strong, healthy, the musk of pack wolves thick. Would he attempt to reel her into his life? She did not know, and she was tired of caring. The itch was too strong, the want too endless, the constant "what if" finally wearing her down. Here was a man, ready and willing, and all she had to do was allow it.

And allow it she did, wordlessly pressing herself close to him, an urgent whine low in her throat. Her intention was clear, and she needed no words for such a base act.