Grouse Thicket As a Burning Fire Shut up in My Bones

Flaris searched for the red mother. He looked for her in his dreams mostly, but sometimes his nose and his eyes hunted for the apparition of her too. It was easier that way, imagining she had been a haunting spirit, rather than feeling lovesick for a woman with no supernatural ability who truly existed. At this time, in a rare spur of spontaneity, the stately fox fled the Sentinels so that he might confirm once and for all that it was mere delusion distracting him. And in the thick of an unfamiliar woodland, he found something he had not at all anticipated.

The alluring scent of a she-wolf's heat touched him, caressing him face and drawing him towards the source. He might've given pause to reason and duty— having technically pledged the ability of his loins (should they find him fit for the task) to Donnelaith— but underlying the magnetizing aroma was something he recognized. The red mother. His chest constricted, and he followed the scent now with a little more urgency.

Ahead loomed a streak of fiery fur, and he hesitated, not believing at first that this was her. Steadily coming closer, chuffing so that he might have her attention, he quickly realized that he was right. Her eyes were inviting tangerines instead of green leaves, and her true scent was much different, only carrying an accent of the red mother, which befuddled him until he was able to rationalize that he was certainly not hallucinating anything, and hadn't been over the passing days. They must know one another, or even be related; it would at least explain their vibrant red coats.

He breathed deeply, at first opening his mouth in charming hesitation, before flourishing neatly: "I apologize, I do, my lady. Your scent, though, it's as if a thousand heavens loom before me, and I could not go on living with myself if I did not at least feast my eyes on the creature wearing such glorious perfume."