Blackfeather Woods тнe elecтronιcѕ oғ yoυr нearт

Close, so close. She can scent the subtle reek of food, and she spins, attempting to pinpoint it. But she is far too slow, and pitched laughter behind her has cold fear run down her spine, and she whirls, hackles on end and green gaze alternating between terror and a forced courage. There is blood on his muzzle, and her heart leaps irrationally before her gaze darts to the hare at his paws. She quivers, quickly falling still as she forces the tremors away. She stares at him, not trusting in herself, and waiting for him to do something, anything. He wouldn't harm her; she grasps to this ideal with a clamped grip, refusing to let it go. He protected her, in the cave. Suddenly she alternates, between terror and reassurance, fear and comfort. Confusion dulls the burn of her gaze, and she is silent.