Lion Head Mesa I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin

keepin this vague AF

Maegi, too, was perplexed by the. . .precipitation? It wasn't wet like rain nor cold like snow, but still it fell from the sky. Just another symptom of whatever illness the earth was suffering from. She was lightly dusted in it as she traveled across the meadow toward the mesa, looking after her new borders.

Strange to say. She'd been watching Blackfeather Woods for so many moons now, albeit off and on, that to consider somewhere else (besides the island, of course) her home was an alien concept. She was ruminating on this strangeness when the pale shape ahead caught her attention (oh, Jaes, was it Mou?).

Not Mou. . .but missing an eye, nonetheless. Actually, one side of his face was reddened and scarred; she immediately felt a kinship with the man, thinking of her own ruined cheek. Giving him a chuff, she trotted out of the meadow and onto the beginning of the slope, canting her head in query.

Looking for something? she asked, finding pensiveness in his stance, his gaze.