Porcupine Ridge leshen

She loped after her lumbering companion—amusement gracing his dark features, but not once did he speak more of his intention to her. A game of wildly random flirtations, the pale sylph could not help but feel slightly relieved at the distraction he had put before her. She had gained the attention of men before, and had taken part in casual flirtations, but never had she sought more. Her seasons had always come and gone without anything eventful to note—the one temptation she held had long since disappeared from her life. It was a cause for concern this year, given her rogue status, that she was certain she would need to steal away somewhere particularly secluded to avoid unwanted attention.

With this as her inexperience, Ketzia found her pace easing as she moved after the beast, knowing that even past her instant attraction to him, he was capable as providing his pack as a leader—this was what she sought above all else.

She had missed the ease of companionship one could feel with another, and sidling up to his side, the lissome dove was not quite willing to drop their previous dance completely, and the faintest brush of her fur would meld to his, the barest graze of fur tip to fur tip. Her nose quivered at the scent, and as her eyes took to the malformed hoof prints, she felt her brows lifting on their own accord, and admitted solemnly in a whisper of smoke: “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted deer.”