Barrow Fields but it turns out the way it does for everyone

the old crone had not taken notice of the shadow hidden by the mounds, and when he pulled from behind one she froze painfully, half expecting drageda upon her. when she whirled around, she did so with teeth bared between frills of moth, and hackles outright like quills -- only to mollify when the scent that hit her was that of a wolf on his own.

her posture softened, but her gaze remained hard as it roved over the male's most curious display. it was a strange tapestry; black illuminated by ornate gold -- more finely seen on a dark elm in a sunset autumn's splendor, than worn proudly by a wolf.

"oh, yes." she answered, the last of her hackles settling neatly into place. she almost looked like a disarming granny now, a far cry from the berserk batsheba she had been seconds before. "who are you?"