Honeyed Pasture king forever, ceasing never

"Hi," she echoed back when he greeted her, forgetting in her worry that she'd offered the initial greeting. Her maroon gaze tracked his movements so intently that she almost missed his response. Dark ears tipped forward attentively when she realized she'd guessed correctly - but he did not seem interested in discussing his quarry. Instead, he seemed to investigate her, which raised the prickly guard hairs on the back of her neck, of course, but she still tried her best to maintain a neutral position.

"No," she replied at once, resisting the urge to take a step back simply because she was curious about what he was up to. Again, she was forgetting herself. She had been looking for someone, but she didn't know who. The scent was familiar, but in such a vague, unsettling way. "Wind chasing," she tried to explain. "I - um." She didn't know the word for nostalgia or deja vu or even longing. If she did, she might've tried to employ these. Since she didn't, Moorhen simply gave it up for a bad job. "Exploring," she clarified, deciding to keep her true motives to herself.