Kintla Flatlands That's just how I feel

It was all so boring to look at. The grass went on and on and on, and was walled on both sides by mountains or forests or both. Ptarmigan was beginning to wonder if there was any sense wandering here. After all, she was doing nothing but putting miles beneath her feet, as though distance was a currency she could collect by wandering far and wide. It didn't, however, buy her anything more than exhaustion, which is why she chose to stop eventually and sit there, staring at the monotony that was the prairie.

That is, until something living broke her concentration on the grass in the distance. Ptarmigan stood when she spotted it, craning her neck and squinting in hopes she could see it before it saw her. Not that it mattered, she figured. It could have been an angry bear barrelling toward her, and she still would think that that was an acceptable change in her boring day.

Luckily for her (and unluckily for any upset bears), it was nothing more than a fellow wolf striking out in the wilds, just as she was. This particular wolf was approaching her, an act which automatically coaxed her into waving her tail. At times Ptarmigan could be rash and rude, but a lot of the time she yearned for company. Not that she would ever say it aloud. He was a handsome male, she thought, a typical pale agouti wolf with dashing streaks of silver throughout. Viggo's eyes were amber, nothing terribly remarkable in wolves, yet they were striking against his coat. She admired him openly for a moment, until his quiet greeting prompted her to respond.

“You're pretty,” was Ptarmigan's eloquent, not even remotely thought out reply. She hadn't meant to say that—what was so hard about just saying hey there, anyway?—but, now that it was out in the open, she did her best to own it by throwing her chest out in front of her, batting her eyes, and flashing him a big grin. As much as she thought it might make her look flirty by nature, it really just made her look like a giant idiot.