The Sentinels enfants jouant a la balle

She paused in her brooding walk as an older female sauntered towards her, lifting her head slightly to gain a better view of the pale figure and decode the scent carried on the sea breeze. Emaleth's ears grew hot as she realized her mistake— she was glad to have resolved it before she made the mistake of greeting him. He smelled of Donnelaith, though she had not seen him before, and that was enough. She spent much of her time alone or in small company; reserved now more than ever after her disastrous attempt at spell-casting.

Wind whipped at her fur, and she watched him draw nearer with her moody, mismatched eyes. Emaleth said nothing, for he was encroaching upon her and not the other way around.