Seaside Moors Thirty point three hours

The seaside was not a tranquil place today, but that is what drew her along its edge. The rising of the sea foam against the grimace of rocks reminded the wandering woman of something sinister. A bad memory she'd sooner forget. As she slips across the sand she moves with purpose, with a certain sense of empowerment, as if she has somewhere to be. Maybe the jutting rocks along the ocean's edge have given her something to think about; she does not wish to linger any longer than she must, and finds her way to an embankment of dry reeds. It is at this burm that she pauses, because her eyes have affixed upon something new — someone — and the lethargy inherent to her features is temporarily banished by her surprise.

The stranger she's found is moving slowly, as if he does not wish to disturb a single grain of sand beneath his feet. How curious.

She watches him without speaking; despite his medial qualities he is still a man, and she has not had the best luck with their kind. Parvati wonders, too, if he is merely here to hunt. He is well-fed, healthy, and does not seem to be in a hurry to leave the moors. When she finally decides to investigate properly, he has moved along a fair ways ahead of her. The woman considers leaving him to his own devices for a split-second, just to be safe. 

But, inevitably, she drifts through the sun-bleached grass and follows after him.