The Floodlands Flood

Feyre had grown up around cutthroat family members, she had spent harsh winters alone, and she had even fought to prove that she was strong enough to be in a pack. The only naive piece of her left had been her heart, and that problem was washed away when he disappeared. The simpering young dove before her would have delighted Feyre as a child, but after spending so many months with little to no socialization, such friendliness was suspicious at best.

The femme stirred on callused paws that had once been as delicate as rosepetals. How could someone so naive, so unprotected survive out here? Feyre thought back on how she must have seemed when she first sauntered through the Wilds, and fought back a laugh. Or perhaps I'm wrong.

Feyre settled her plume around herself, her ginger eyes training on the pallid young lady. "Alright darling, then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I took another?" The cant of her cranium was less preditory, and her eyes reflected the girl's own innocence. Feyre hoped that the young woman would read into her true intentions, otherwise it would seem to Feyre that the other the girl would be dead come the following winter. Especially without a pack to defend her from the darker sort who roamed the far reaches of the Teekon. Feyre had been nearly identical, and perhaps she would be different within the safety of a pack, but she had learned to adapt to rely on herself until then.