Stone Circle sting

Sesi's ears folded back atop her crown. 

She had only meant to pass through, but there was something familiar about some scents that she was given pause. She pressed low to the earth, her snout pressing into the snowy earth as she breathed in. That these scents were the scents of her family did not occur to her; what she recognized was only that familiarity, and that this familiarity was not the bad sort. 

It was the sort that warmed her. Though panic was the most prevalent trait in her personality—evidenced even now as her eyes flit every which way as she sniffed obsessively at the ground—there was, for the first time, a sense of something that was good. 

A snapping in the distance caused Sesi to backpedal with her tail and head low, her heart racing as she bewilderedly scanned her immediate surroundings. It had only been a hare, and the skinny, scrawny Sesi—starved from lack of sustenance this hard Winter—breathed an exhale of relief. The fear never left her, though, but she mustered up the courage to remind herself: there is no shadow king, in a breathy whisper.