Sleepy Fox Hollow lächeln

wylla's spectacular cowl appeared initially nothing more than a dove-grey halo for her lovely features. 
but he was numbingly logical, and therefore aware of all changes in his immediate vicinity. she seemed now disheveled; now more than unkempt. it was as if she had sprang up from sleeping and run though the forest.
with the single-minded intention of one who saw a reason he might groom a member of his pack, the gargoyle swept close, intending to nose down into her guard hairs for a solid preening.
but mahler himself engaged once more, and horrified he all but reeled away from wylla, checking himself with a tight stuttered step.
she had not fallen — this close he could see no evidence of dirt, nor snow, nor crushed leaves. only her scent, rising bold into his senses
mahler cleared his throat.
"are you all right?"
her throat now unpinned and afluster like the other tufts of her pelt; it drove him to madness to know he must primp but could not dare touch wylla's small and ferocious being.
"i vas just ... valking."