Phoenix Maplewood half-savage and hardy

Little did he know that somewhere in the wood, there was a dark-coated female who shared his sentiments on the difficulties of leaving his home. Bronte was grateful; he had Coelho at his side, and while she was trying in her own right, he felt more at peace with the presence of familiarity. It had been a few miles since he had seen the sharp gold of her gaze and he wondered if it would be much longer before he saw her beelining it across the forest floor.
 
Turning his skull, Bronte caught wind of an unfamiliar scent. He drew his ears forward and frowned thoughtfully at the freshness of it. From what he could gather, the aroma belonged only to one, but he wasn’t fond of putting himself in riskier situations than he could handle. The DeMonte scanned his surroundings for an approaching figure but saw only the darkness that cased the forest. There was a small response to his calling, but Bronte did not see the large grey-cloaked male, or even the dark woman who melded with the background.