Porcupine Ridge all you have is your fire

Lady.

She withheld her amusement at the title—one that had not been placed upon her even during her reign over Cutthroat Creek. Perhaps it had been her company, or perhaps, during that span of her life, she had appeared just as youthful and immature as she felt.

Somehow, as she traversed, she felt aged.

“No,” she returned, her weight shifting as she begun to slink toward the lumbering shadow. His presence commanded attention, and lured to such on a dark winter night, the pale wanderer drew closer, her gaze sharp upon him should his attention turn unfavorable. “Not if the company proves to be interesting.”