Honeyed Pasture king forever, ceasing never

The cold and the wind made her nearly noseblind - her constant proximity to the stinging, salty gales had already done most of the work - so she didn't notice the approach of another until he'd already started toward her. Moorhen paused her hunting, her body going still as she tried to suss out the other's identity. Did he know her? He didn't look familiar to her from a distance, and as he drew closer, she let out a tiny snort.

It was a stranger. Young and lanky, and pretty in a way she didn't normally associate with males. Handsome, she corrected herself, but then decided that she like the first word far better. "Hello," she offered warily, giving the tiniest wag of her tail. It seemed too early to be attracting males already; she knew that she was heading in that direction and that her scent was already subtly different, but the bloodfire hadn't come yet, so she knew it couldn't be time. Or perhaps she just didn't know what that felt like? Maybe this urge to roam and fight and conquer was the bloodfire?

Regardless, she did not try to fend off the stranger just yet. Perhaps he was only looking for someone - Moorhen had spent enough time in recent past doing just that that it was the next thing that occurred to her. "Are you look for someone?" she asked, her voice giving away her anxious state. Part of her hoped not.