Blackfeather Woods i like to be here when i can

She’d been in the moment of reverie, gazing at the bleeding trunk of a pocked pine and wishing it had been the fruit of those succulents; wished that she could reach into her childhood and feel the dark mauvey stain on her pale chin; wished it would dribble down her throat and breast without a care in the world. It was worth it, and it was good, and filling, sticky-sweet even when the sun itself gobbled her up.

And then she was wrenched from her thoughts by a grumbly inquiry. Bright eyes went wide, the corner of her lips tweaking into a tight frown; brows bowed like saplings — basically, a genuine oh shit expression. Truth was, she’d thought she could skip on by the scent lines and just hustle her ass through as fast as wolfishly possible. Oof.

”I, er, I am only passing through.” Promise, her eyes said, and much like a reprimanded child, lowered her head with a bitey pout and scuffing one hind lamely behind the other. If the pale she-wolf’s appearance had startled her, then the cocoa didn’t let on. Actually, she was astoundingly oblivious to even the most obvious.