Lost Creek Hollow burning away at the heartwood

He had no more set the final touches to his work before realizing that someone had drawn close. Wherever the focus from his surroundings had disappeared was truly beyond him, and it took a great deal of control not to startle from a gentle greeting. She was a quaint thing, certainly a wolf from stem to stern, and every bit as green-eyed as his greeter had been. Respectful, if he had to wager, but he was far from a betting soul in the way his body language conducted itself and deferred to her.

”Hello,” he returned to her in a breath, slow to compose himself and mask that he had ever been doing anything at all. She had come to him and he wondered if perhaps she wanted something of him. It wouldn't have been surprising even if untrue; he knew he was a fresh face and an unusual sight and held himself as such. It would have been a real shame if she had seen him all along he thought, and would soon set to uncovering the work he had so painstakingly tried to do in solitude.

But it would have been par for course in the downturn of events that had become his life.

You thought she seemed respectful, came another voice, one almost more familiar than the circle of others that came and went. Something shifted off in his vision, but true to his usual response (or really, lack thereof), he didn't try to track it. No point and especially no point in drawing any more unnecessary attention to himself, that was for certain.