Sleepy Fox Hollow To the house in the pines where the road ends

Wylla nodded and lapsed into silence as Mahler led the way to his herb stores. It occurred to her belatedly that she still wasn't completely comfortable in the quiet that stretched between them—words kept leaping to her tongue only to be swallowed won. She was bound and determined not to make another fight of things by saying something stupid just to fill the break in conversation, but it made her stomach swarm with anxiety to keep her mouth shut. It was the first time she realized it was Mahler himself and his opinions, not his confession from before, that was making her nervous now.

Luckily, Mahler broke it in his own way. Not with words, but actions, a language Wylla spoke far better. The draw of chasing after another of her kind was inescapable. The moment his steps grew longer, Wylla's did as well while a smirk unfurled across her muzzle. It wasn't so different from old times, when she'd challenged him to a sort of race in the ocean, and they'd both froze their asses off proving themselves.

Wylla was fast and wily in the sea but land was another matter. Her bounds were long, her leap exemplary, her body nimble as a reed, but she wasn't necessarily faster than anyone else because of it. Mahler could outpace her on familiar terrain no problem, she was sure of that. But she kicked herself into action and surged forward in the snow anyway, unable to stop a tinkling laugh from bursting through her lips as she raced to try to overtake him while leaving her cares behind.

Can fade or continue, I'm good with whatever!