Horizon Ridge mara mesta

The fawn was most peculiar, but it was new to the world and adapting to it. Clinging to it's mother's shadow with as much care and control as that tiny body could muster. The mother must have been aware of the pale maiden; as she moved along through the trees the child gave pause, and so she stopped and raised her head. Ruku felt the wind shift across her narrow shoulders—it's change brought something else to her attention, but before she could conciously make sense of it the doe had startled and hurried to move along. It did not bolt, but it was clear by the strain in the mother's haunches that it was fighting the fight-or-flight instinct. The fawn was too small to make such a run. If the doe left now, as instinct demanded of her, then the child would fall behind. Ruku watched them go—they crossed through a gap among a copse of alder trees, and only then would Ruku begin to fathom what the wind was whispering.

The scent had a salinity to it that reminded her of the bubbling brooks of the forest, of the minerals found in ponds, but much more concentrated and specific. She had never seen the ocean before and had no concept of a great river filled with salt—but the wind blustered again, and the scent was stronger. She sighed deeply. There was no way for the wandering girl to recognize where, precisely, this person was—but she knew she was not alone, and that precipitated only a slight change to her demeanor.

She looked to the path she had been taking and, oddly, took on the aspect of that startled doe with the arch of her neck and widening of her pale eyes. Only briefly did she do this, and soon she was back to aligning her head and shoulders, staying low. Whether this was due to her own fear or a learned behavior was unclear. She could have called out, but did not. She cold also have bolted—but, much like the doe, she appeared to be calculating what to do next.