and wild plum trees in tremulous white

Grayday continued to peer in the woman's direction, mystified by her sudden appearance and then again by her solemn silence. He half-rose to his paws before Sunny crashed into the clearing, and the male was both resentful and glad as his son's youthful face was forced to the forefront of his vision.

"Nice job, buck-o," he praised, nosing the kill back toward his son. "Eat up - to the victor go the spoils."

His eyes left his son's face and fixed themselves back on the stranger. It felt wrong to speak aloud to the woman when she'd, thus far, been entirely silent, but if figured that he could certainly speak to her, if Sunny felt comfortable doing so.

"Evening, miss," he offered, resisting the urge to hold his breath as he waited for a response. He had to lock his legs in order to persuade himself that it was not necessary to walk toward her. I really need to figure this out, he thought to himself, looking once again toward his son in order to quell the wanting mood that women always brought out of him, these days. After a moment, he convinced his legs to fold underneath him, and he sat down where he'd laid a moment before.